


A Tipsy Turvy Sky

by menel



Category: Justified
Genre: Case Fic, Deception, Established Relationship, M/M, Revenge, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old friends and old cases come back to haunt Raylan and Tim. Will these new obstacles bring them closer together or fracture their newly formed relationship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Old Friends Come Knocking

**Author's Note:**

> This story is post- _Under the Black Light_. It continues the relationship between Tim and Raylan that was established by that series. While the plot can stand on its own, there are references to previous conversations and events from _Under the Black Light_ , so it would be a good idea to read that first. 
> 
> In terms of timeline, this fic is post-Season 4 and takes place in the last ten days of Raylan’s suspension. Unlike _Under the Black Light_ , I’m driving blind with this fic so let’s just see where it goes.

Tim sat down at his usual seat at the breakfast table with a bowl of cornflakes and a glass of orange juice. Raylan was already there (as disconcerting as that was given the hour) in what had become his customary spot, sitting sideways in his chair so that he was leaning against the wall, book in hand and a mug of black coffee on the table. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Tim asked, gesturing towards the book. 

Raylan shushed him, not looking up from the page he was reading. “I’m getting to the good part. The Princess is about to summon the animals to raid the evil trapper’s den.” 

Tim gave Raylan a look that the other man didn’t acknowledge but Tim was sure he could feel, before shaking his head and scooping up some cornflakes. The book he was referring to was the Native American book of folklore that he’d been reading during the Drew Thompson case, the same book that Raylan had teased him endlessly about. Tim didn’t know whether it was a sign of boredom, desperation or something else that had prompted Raylan to begin reading it himself. 

Raylan had been back from Salt Lake City for exactly five days and Tim knew the other man was feeling every moment of his suspension. At least in Salt Lake, he’d been occupied with Winona and preparing for the arrival of his baby girl, but back in Lexington he was bored out of his mind. The only positive thing that had come out of the suspension so far was that they’d finally been able to test their living together compatibility and it was a lot smoother than Tim had ever imagined. Raylan had officially moved in during the height of the Drew Thompson case, but once that wrapped up, he’d had to deal with Nicky Augustine. It was true they’d spent that weekend in Harlan, but Raylan’s description of a weekend getaway had been apt. Before Tim knew it, Raylan had flown off to Salt Lake City. Still, Tim didn’t feel like he’d been left behind for the two weeks that Raylan had been away. In fact, the opposite had happened. Tim had become acutely aware of Raylan’s soon-to-be-presence in his house and he’d begun seriously considering the practical implications of living with the other man. He’d thought a lot about Raylan’s comment that first night about “maintaining certain appearances” and realized how perceptive Raylan had been about what that would actually translate into. So five days into their new living arrangement, they’d mostly arrived at a routine. Rosa had already met Raylan once and she’d instantly liked him. (The cowboy had turned on the charm.) Even Art had stopped by (my god, was the boss actually checking up on them?) and that visit had turned out surprisingly well with the aid of “some good bourbon.” 

Raylan put down the book and took a drink of his coffee. 

“The next one’s even better,” Tim began. 

“No spoilers,” Raylan cut him off. 

“Are you discovering your inner Native American princess?” 

“Alive and kicking apparently. So, what are you up to today?” 

Raylan asked that a lot. At this point, even the minutia of work was interesting to him. 

“The usual. Catching bad guys. The real question is, what are _you_ doing today?” 

Raylan gave him a pained expression. 

“You should learn knitting or crochet,” Tim went on. “Like those rehabilitation programs. They always teach some kind of arts and crafts or a vocational skill.” 

“You want me to darn you a pair of socks?” 

“A pullover would be nice.” 

Tim grinned evilly as Raylan’s mobile began to ring. Raylan picked it up, simultaneously returning Tim’s look with a glare of his own, until the caller ID caught his interest and his expression shifted to one of curiosity. 

“Please tell me this ain’t a social call,” Raylan said by way of greeting. 

Tim didn’t know who was on the other end, but their answer clearly amused Raylan. 

“Well, there was that one time you called about your brother’s wedding,” Raylan reminded the caller. There was a pause, followed by a chuckle. “What can I do for you, Dan?” 

_Dan_ , Tim thought. Probably Dan Grant, Raylan’s former boss. 

“You’re kidding. He fell off the grid, what? Three, four years ago? We all thought the cartel was on to him.” 

Tim continued to eat his cornflakes, thinking that the conversation was starting to get interesting. At least, based on the half he was hearing. Unfortunately, he didn’t get to hear any more of it because the doorbell rang. He took a quick drink of his orange juice before standing up to see who was at the door.

* * * * *

Raylan watched as Tim stood up and made his way to the front door. It was unusual, somebody ringing the bell at this hour. Actually, it wasn’t _that_ early, but quarter to eight was plenty early for him. Some of Tim’s good habits were rubbing off on him after all. Dan was still talking in his ear and Raylan made an effort to pick up the conversation again.

“I need you to fly up here, Ray.” 

“That’s easier said than done.” 

“I know you’re Art’s golden boy, but he can spare you for 24 hours.” 

“I’m his golden boy, all right. His _suspended_ golden boy.” 

Dan’s laughter was so loud that Raylan took the phone away from his ear lest he go deaf. 

“What’d he suspend you for?” Dan asked, when his laughter finally subsided. 

“Doing my job, mostly,” Raylan answered, watching as Tim came back accompanied by another man with dark hair that looked to be about Tim’s age. The guy was military, Raylan could tell that right away. Maybe one of Tim’s Ranger buddies. 

“I’ll give Art a call,” Dan was saying. “This is too important to let slide.” 

“Good luck with that,” Raylan said before hanging up the phone. 

“Raylan,” Tim said. “This is Kelly. We served together in Afghanistan.” 

“Hey,” Raylan said in reply, standing up to shake Kelly’s proffered hand. The man had a good firm grip. 

“Raylan and I work together,” Tim explained. 

“Another Marshal,” Kelly said, giving Tim a look. “I feel safer already.” 

“Do you need protection?” Raylan asked, only partially joking. 

“Only from himself,” Tim answered. “Kelly’s gonna stay here for a little while, if that’s okay.” 

“’Course it’s okay,” Raylan said. “It’s your house.” 

Tim looked like he was about to correct Raylan and then thought better of it. “Raylan moved in recently,” Tim said, turning to his friend. “So all I got is the couch now, but it’s comfortable.” 

“Hey, I should’ a called first,” Kelly replied. “Instead of just dropping in on you like this.” 

“It’s not like you haven’t done it before,” Tim reminded him. 

Kelly laughed. “True,” he agreed. “My point is that if a friend crashes at a friend’s place, he ain’t gonna complain about where he’s actually crashing. The couch will do just fine.” 

“Well, now that that’s settled,” Raylan said, taking his leave. 

“You’re leaving before me?” Tim asked incredulously. “What about my pullover?” 

“If you want to buy me some needles, yarn and an instruction manual, I’m sure I can figure it out,” Raylan replied. 

Tim looked amused but still miffed. “Where are you going?” 

“Talking to Dan reminded me that I got a small job to do.” 

“You mean those small jobs that’re also illegal?” 

“It’s not illegal if I’m suspended.” 

“I don’t think Art would agree with that sentiment.” 

“Seeing as you’re not going to tell him, that’s not going to be a problem.” Raylan gave Tim one of those looks and all Tim could do was sigh in reply. Then Raylan addressed their new guest. “Kelly, it was nice to meet you. I guess I’ll be seeing you later.” 

“Nice to meet you too, Raylan.” When Raylan disappeared down the hallway and was out of earshot, Kelly turned to Tim and said, “Jesus, Gutterson. Are you –?” 

“We’re not having that conversation,” Tim said.

* * * * *

It was a slow day at the office. No fugitives on the radar and a backlog of paperwork to go through. Art stopped by his desk once with the instructions to tell Raylan to come to work tomorrow.

“Does he need to know what for?” Tim had asked. 

“He already knows,” Art had sighed. 

Tim figured it had something to do with the phone call Raylan had received that morning. Only Raylan could cause Art stress by not even being in the office. 

“Y’know, Tim,” Art had said. “I really thought that Raylan being suspended would be a peaceful time for me.” 

“Didn’t think you were that optimistic, boss.” 

By the time Tim got home, Raylan and Kelly were both there watching a baseball game in the living room and Tim wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Raylan was relaxing at one end of the sofa, his right arm stretched along the sofa’s back. Kelly was at the other end, sitting in one of the armchairs facing the coffee table. They both had cold beers, although Raylan’s beer was on the end table beside him. Tim walked in, went straight to the sofa and sat beside Raylan, near enough that he was clearly in the other man’s personal space and Raylan’s arm was behind his head. Raylan gave him a sidelong glance and Tim simply shrugged, settling more comfortably into the other man’s side. Kelly, who had been watching them, stood up. 

“I’m gonna get another beer,” he said. “Can I get you guys one?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” Raylan replied. 

“I could use one,” Tim admitted. 

“One beer coming up,” Kelly said as he went to the kitchen. 

“Thanks,” Tim called after him. 

Raylan dropped his arm from the back of the sofa once they were alone and leaned over, pressing a kiss to Tim’s temple. 

“You really gonna let your friend sleep on the couch?” he asked. 

“You really gonna give up your room?” Tim asked in return. 

“It’s not exactly a hardship, Tim. As long as you’re okay with it.” 

“Kelly’s all right.” 

The man in question returned from the kitchen just as Raylan was standing up. 

“Listen, Kelly. There’s no need for you to sleep on the couch,” Raylan told him. “Just gonna get some stuff and then that room’s all yours.” Raylan didn’t actually say where he’d be sleeping but the answer was fairly obvious. 

“I don’t want to put you out,” Kelly replied. 

Raylan shook his head. “It’s no trouble,” he assured him. He gave Tim a final look before disappearing down the hallway. 

“Your beer.” Kelly handed Tim an already uncapped bottle of beer. 

“Thanks,” Tim said, taking a drink as Kelly sat back down in the armchair. 

“So, you and Raylan, huh?” 

“Told you we’re not having that conversation.”

* * * * *

Kelly prepared dinner that night, and Tim’s barbecue talent aside, he had more culinary skill than Tim and Raylan combined.

“I don’t remember your cooking being this good,” Tim remarked at one point. 

“You can stay as long as you like,” Raylan added. 

Kelly laughed. “It’s a good way to earn my keep at friends’ places,” he admitted. “You two need to go shopping more,” he added. “There’s like beer and ice cream in your fridge.” 

“And a coupla eggs,” Raylan commented. 

“Not anymore,” Kelly told him. 

“Milk and orange juice too,” Tim added. “Mr. Suspended here was supposed to make a run at the supermarket today.” 

“I was busier than I expected to be,” Raylan said. “It’ll be on my To-Do list for tomorrow.” 

“Don’t forget the knitting needles.” 

“I don’t think you can buy those at the supermarket.” 

“That reminds me,” Tim said suddenly. “Art wants you to come in tomorrow.” 

“He does, does he?” Raylan replied with a thoughtful expression. “Dan’s more persuasive than I thought.” 

“You know what it’s about, don’t you?” 

“Yeah. Best we save that.” The _for when we’re alone_ remained unsaid. 

Kelly, who had been observing the interaction of the two men said, “I guess that’s my cue.” 

“Cue?” Tim asked. 

“To clear the table, wash the dishes,” Kelly answered. 

“Hell, no,” Tim quickly objected. “We got that covered. You cooked the meal. Fair’s fair.” 

“Parity’s a big deal with you guys, huh?” 

“We’re working on it,” Raylan replied.

* * * * *

Later, when Tim and Raylan were finally alone in bed, Tim was so obviously distracted that Raylan eventually sat back and asked him, “Is it too weird? Having sex with your ex down the hall?”

“What? No, I mean . . .” Tim sat up as well, flustered by the question. He took a deep breath. “Yeah, it’s a little weird having somebody else here,” he said after a moment. “But Kelly’s not my ex.” 

“Isn’t he?” 

“We hooked up a couple of times,” Tim admitted. “But it was to relieve tension. Wasn’t anything more than that.” 

“Just for fun then.” 

“Don’t know if you could call it that either,” Tim scoffed. “We were too damn scared of getting caught all the time.” He stopped abruptly, looking as though he’d revealed too much. Tim didn’t talk about his exes. It’s not like he had many to begin with but it was too sensitive a topic. 

“Huh,” Raylan said in a non-committal sort of way, lying back down on the bed beside the other man. Tim was still leaning against the headboard. “C’mere,” Raylan said after a moment. 

Tim glanced down at him and for a moment Raylan thought that Tim would withdraw, but instead he slid down and shifted over, fitting neatly into Raylan’s side and allowing Raylan’s arm to curl around his back. 

“Thought we didn’t cuddle,” he said. 

“This ain’t cuddling,” Raylan told him. “It’s the manly hug of reassurance.” 

“Whatever,” Tim replied, sounding very much like he was going to call Raylan out on his bullshit.

Raylan, however, had that way of circumventing him and he demonstrated it once again with his next question. 

“You still scared of getting caught?” 

Tim sucked in a sharp breath, unsure of whether or not he could answer the question. This was firmly in the territory of shit they didn’t talk about, unless they were comfortable enough. Tim guessed that this was Raylan’s way of asking whether or not he was more comfortable with it and to Tim’s own surprise, the answer was ‘Yes.’ 

“Not like before,” he said with a sigh. “It’s different here. With you.” 

“Good different, I hope.” 

“Good different,” Tim assured him, turning over so that he was lying on his stomach. Raylan’s hand was still on his back, aimlessly drawing patterns with his fingers as Tim propped himself up on his elbows. “But I do think about it,” he admitted. “I mean, what I would do if other people found out about us.” 

“What would you do?” 

“Depends upon who found out, I guess.” 

There was a pause and Raylan’s hand stilled on Tim’s back, flat, warm and comforting. “There’s something I need to tell you.” 

“Shit, you told someone.” 

“More like someone _observed_.” 

Tim’s mind was in a whirl. Who could have observed them so carefully? The first name that popped into his mind was Boyd Crowder. He remembered how easily Boyd had put things together that day at Raylan’s house nearly three weeks ago. 

“Hey.” Raylan was tapping him on the back. “It’s Rachel.” 

“Rachel?” Tim felt himself relax. Rachel was unexpected but certainly not disastrous. “Thought you only told her about moving in.” 

“I did,” Raylan confirmed. “But the next morning she saw the look on your face when I made that joke about the sex being easier.” 

“Oh, god,” Tim groaned. He remembered that joke and he remembered how shocked he’d been that Raylan had actually made it. And then he distinctly remembered how he’d wanted to kill Raylan at that moment. Apparently, Rachel had _observed_ all that. 

“She asked me about it on the way up to Nobles’ and I couldn’t lie to her,” Raylan went on. “But I also told her not to mention it to you ‘cos I wasn’t sure how comfortable you were with all of this.” 

“Lookin’ out for me, huh?” 

“I do try.” 

Tim grinned. 

“She’ll keep our secret,” Raylan added. 

“Yeah, Rachel’s trustworthy like that,” Tim agreed. “Y’know, for a moment there I thought you were gonna say ‘Boyd Crowder.’” 

“I haven’t told Boyd shit, but I reckon I don’t have to.” Raylan paused. “You don’t need to worry about him. He’s not gonna use this against you.” 

“What you’re _not_ saying is,” Tim translated. “He might use this against _you_.” 

“He might,” Raylan conceded. “But maybe not in the way you’re thinking.” 

To Tim the next obvious question was, _What am I thinking?_ But Raylan was looking at him carefully and they both knew that they’d just touched upon Raylan’s territory of ‘shit they don’t talk about’ and Raylan didn’t look like he was about to take that avenue of conversation any further. 

Tim cleared his throat. “You really don’t care, do you? If people find out.” 

“I don’t advertise,” Raylan said. “But it wouldn’t bother me either.” He paused. “I’m following your lead on this. Whatever you’re comfortable with is what we’ll do. Take your friend, Kelly. You seemed okay with him putting things together.” 

“Kelly’s an exception, but there aren’t many of them.” Tim lay back down on his back. “Are we really not having sex tonight?” he asked after a while. 

Raylan chuckled. “I’m following your lead on that too,” he replied. 

“Aw, hell.”

* * * * *

Tim woke to the feeling of slicked fingers moving inside him and when they touched upon that spot that sent a jolt of electricity up his spine, he instinctively pushed back trying to get those fingers to brush that nub again.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Raylan said in his ear. 

“Fuck, you can’t stop now,” Tim hissed back. 

Raylan’s soft laughter was warm against his neck, and Tim lifted his left leg so that his thigh was against his chest and Raylan had better access. Those fingers stroked his prostrate again and Tim let out a loud moan. 

“We have a guest,” Raylan reminded him. 

“Thought the whole point of finger fucking me now was so that he’d be asleep,” Tim said, pushing back on those fingers once more. 

“I’m hoping, but you’re gonna wake him if you keep that up.” 

“Christ, Raylan. Get _on_ with it.” 

“And you think I’m bossy.” 

Tim’s reply was cut off by the two fingers that were shoved in his mouth at the same time that the fingers from his ass were removed. He sucked on them as Raylan shifted behind him, positioning himself until Tim could feel the blunt head of Raylan’s cock at his entrance. Tim sucked harder in an effort to stave off another moan as Raylan pushed inside. He thought Raylan was damn lucky that he hadn’t bitten those fingers off at the rate the other man was going. The same thought must’ve crossed Raylan’s mind because he withdrew those fingers too, running his hand down Tim’s body until it landed firmly on Tim’s waist. He began with shallow thrusts that Tim matched easily. While the angle on their side was good, it didn’t really allow for the hard fuck that they both preferred so it wasn’t long before Raylan was pushing Tim onto his front. Tim moved easily, spreading his legs wide as he felt Raylan's arm curl around his waist, supporting him at a better angle. 

“You want me on my knees?” Tim asked. 

“Can’t have you banging the headboard tonight,” Raylan said with the perfect thrust that jolted Tim forward and did precisely that. 

“Shit,” Tim muttered, both at the realization and the fact that Raylan had stilled after that last thrust. “Raylan,” he hissed, pushing back in an effort to get the other man moving again. But Raylan was moving in entirely the wrong direction. 

“Floor,” he said, getting off Tim and pulling the top cover and the top sheet along with him. 

“What?” Tim almost laughed. 

“Floor,” Raylan repeated. “Now.” 

Tim didn’t argue. He got off the bed as well, settling on his hands and knees on top of the hastily thrown bed sheets and was relieved when Raylan settled behind him, both hands on Tim’s hips, pulling Tim backwards as he pushed himself inside. Tim exhaled slowly as Raylan filled him, somehow managing to focus on his own breathing, which had started coming out in harsh pants, once Raylan began to move. Raylan came first, but Tim was still hard and aching. He was about to reach down and finish himself off until Raylan’s voice stopped him. 

“I’ve got you.” 

Tim breathed a sigh of relief as he lay back down on his back, legs spread to accommodate Raylan who was trailing a quick line of kisses down his body that ended in the wet heat of Raylan’s mouth around his cock. Tim still wasn’t sure how he felt about Raylan growing his hair a little longer but he had to admit it was convenient at times like this when he could reach down and run his fingers through it, giving Raylan that extra bit of encouragement. Encouragement gave way to bliss and then Tim’s grip on Raylan’s hair was tugging with a different kind of encouragement, the kind that was silently asking Raylan to move back up so that Tim could kiss him. Raylan obliged after one last lick and then Tim felt that familiar weight on top of him followed by the slow languid kisses that he’d come to favor just after sex. 

“I guess we’ll be changing our routine with Kelly here,” Tim commented as Raylan licked his collarbone. “We could go for the shower tomorrow night,” he suggested. 

Raylan lifted his head and Tim could see the apologetic smile on his face through the moonlight that filtered into the room. “I got a bit sidetracked earlier but I forgot to mention that I’m flying to Miami in a couple of hours.” 

Tim sighed. “We have the strangest pillow talk.” 

“We need a pillow,” Raylan realized, reaching up with his right hand and rummaging around the bed until he grasped one of the pillows there. It was probably Tim’s since they’d landed on Tim’s side of the floor. He pulled it down and they comfortably shared it as Tim slotted into his side again in a way that totally _did not_ resemble cuddling. 

“What’s in Miami?” Tim asked. 

“An old C.I. of mine just popped up. He won’t talk to anyone else. Dan seems to think he’s on to something, enough to fly me in to have a chat with him. Shouldn’t take more than a day to sort out.” 

Tim began to laugh. 

“What?” Raylan asked, miffed. 

“You make it sound simple,” Tim told him. “But nothing’s ever that simple with you.” 

“Ronny Baker’s a simple man,” Raylan said, referring to his C.I. “I can’t imagine what Dan thinks he knows.” 

“You’ll find out soon enough.” 

“Feel like coming to Miami with me?” 

Tim would’ve shot Raylan an incredulous look except that he was much too comfortable where he was, so he settled for saying, “I can’t just drop everything and fly to Miami with you.” 

“You sure? Dan said their Armed Response Team is short a sniper. You could fill in, especially if this thing goes for longer than 24 hours, which you seem to think it will.” 

“The mere fact that the Miami office _has_ an Armed Response Team tells me that they don’t need me. ‘Sides, _we’re_ the ones who are short here with you being suspended.” 

Tim stifled a yawn. 

“Bed, Sleeping Beauty?” 

“In a bit. It’s kinda comfortable here. Sort of like camping.” 

“Yeah, without the trees and stones and wildlife.” 

“Shut up.”

* * * * *

The second time Tim woke up, it was still dark and he was back in the bed. Even more disturbingly Raylan wasn’t there but he was aware of the other man’s presence in the room. “Is the world ending?” he asked. “What are you doing up before me?”

“Art called,” Raylan explained. He was packing a small overnight bag. “He booked me an earlier flight.” 

“This is starting to sound not so simple.” 

“Well, the sooner I leave, the sooner I get back.” Raylan zipped up the overnight bag. It was small enough to hand carry. He gave Tim a mischievous look and said, “If you get lonely, you could always ask Kelly to keep you company.” 

“Are we that kind of couple?” 

“I dunno. Are we?” 

Tim laughed. “I’ll manage till you get back.”

* * * * *

Art was waiting for Raylan at the departure gate. “Didn’t think you were going to make it, cowboy.”

Raylan shrugged. “I got five minutes, give or take,” he answered. “Sweet of you to hold my hand while I get on the plane, Art.” 

“You’re still suspended,” Art said sternly. 

“I s’ppose that’s why you’re giving me back my gun and my badge,” Raylan asked, taking the two items from Art as he handed them over. 

“I mean it, Raylan. This is a favor to Dan. You’re a . . .” Art searched for an appropriate word. “Consultant,” he said at last. 

Raylan was about to laugh but he somehow managed to hold it in. “Consultant. Got it,” he said with just a touch of mocking sarcasm in his voice. 

“Raylan.” 

“I heard you, Art.” 

“If you get into any shit down there, I’m sending Rachel after you.” 

“Better yet, send Tim. He could use a tan. Hell, send both of ‘em if you’re so concerned. That’s only half the office.” Raylan paused. “Relax, Art. It’ll be fine.” 

“Famous last words,” Art muttered as he watched the Stetson disappear from view.


	2. A Not So Simple Case

Miami was exactly how Raylan remembered it – sunny and bright. To his surprise, Dan was waiting for him when he got off the plane. 

“I’m starting to feel like that twelve year old kid,” Raylan told his former boss. “The one that flies on an airplane for the first time and there are people to see ‘im off and people to meet ‘im on the other side.” 

“Well, you do have a tendency to wander,” Dan replied, offering his hand. Raylan shook it. 

“How are you, Raylan?” 

“Bored as hell.” 

“Bored enough to hop on a plane and fly to Miami?” 

Raylan gave Dan a sideways look as they walked towards the other man’s car. “You didn’t give me much of a choice,” he reminded him. “But now that you mention it, a conversation with Ronny Baker is probably gonna be the highlight of my week.” 

“Thirty days,” Dan said thoughtfully, unlocking his Lexus and getting in. “Did I ever suspend you that long?” 

“I think your maximum was two weeks,” Raylan answered, getting in the passenger’s side. 

Dan chuckled. “Art must really love you.” 

“He’s got a funny way of showing his affection. So, Ronny Baker,” Raylan said, shifting their conversation towards the case. “What do we know?” 

“Not much. Baker won’t let us take him in. No one’s even seen him. He’s certainly not with Gio’s crew.” 

“Where’s he been then?” 

“That’s for you to find out.” 

“How’d he contact you anyway?” 

“He called in using one of the older codes. I recognized it as yours. The call was patched to me but Baker wouldn’t budge.” Dan glanced at Raylan. “Your CI’s loyal.” 

“Loyalty’s not a character trait that Ronny’s known for,” Raylan observed. “What makes you think he’s got something important? He’s never been particularly high up on the food chain.” 

Dan vacillated for a moment. “It’s the timing,” he said at last. “There’s a major turf war brewing between Gio and the Russians.” 

“The Russians?” Raylan asked, surprised. 

“They’ve become a real force since you left,” Dan went on. “They’ve moved in on all of Gio’s territories – drugs, prostitution, money laundering. They’re also arms dealers – something Gio doesn’t have.” 

“And you think Ronny Baker is involved in all this?” The incredulity in Raylan’s voice was evident. 

“I think Ronny Baker, precisely because he was a no-nothing in Gio’s crew, was sent in to get tight with the Russians.” 

“What led you to that conclusion?” 

“It turns out that Ronny’s mom is from Georgia, and I’m not talking about the South. And Ronny wasn’t born ‘Ronny Baker.’ He was once Rudolph Petrovich.”

* * * * *

The bar was dimly lit and the smoke was thick enough to cut with a knife. You couldn’t tell from the inside that it was practically midday outside. Raylan was sitting in the furthermost booth at the back, nursing a whiskey that he hadn’t actually touched. At exactly noon, a man slid into the opposite side of the booth. Since punctuality, along with loyalty, wasn’t one of Ronny’s better traits, Raylan wasn’t all that surprised to see a stranger sitting in front of him.

“That seat’s taken,” Raylan said. 

“I know,” the stranger replied. 

“I’m waiting for someone,” Raylan clarified. 

“That would be me.” 

Raylan leaned back and surveyed the man in front of him. Blondish hair, close cropped. Fit. Well-built. Dressed in dark clothes, but casual. Had to assume he was carrying. Looked like he could handle himself. Calm. Confident. A far cry from Ronny Baker. 

“Does that line always work for you?” 

The man’s face broke into a smile with a flash of white teeth. “A sense of humor,” he commented. “Wasn’t expecting that from you.” 

“You know who I am?” 

“I do, Marshal.” 

If Raylan had been suspicious when the man sat down, now he was on high alert. “Then I’m at a disadvantage,” Raylan said. “Since I don’t know who you are.” 

“Viktor,” the man said, extending his hand. “Viktor Petrovich.” 

Raylan shook the proffered hand, holding it for a split second longer than necessary as he asked, “Brother?” 

“Half-brother,” Viktor answered as Raylan released his hand. He gestured towards his own face. “As you can see, we don’t share much of a resemblance.” 

“You have the same eyes,” Raylan noted. 

“Courtesy of our mother,” Viktor replied with a note of approval. 

“It was you who called in,” Raylan went on. “Not Ronny. That’s why you wouldn’t meet with anyone else.” 

“Ronny did say you were quick.” 

“And where is Ronny?” 

“Dead.” 

“You know this because?” 

“I killed him.” 

“That’s not the sort of statement that makes you friends.” 

“I’m not looking for friends.” 

“What are you looking for?” 

“A deal.” Viktor leaned forward. “A better deal than what Ronny had.” 

“That depends on what you’re offering.” 

“I’m offering you everything.”

* * * * *

“He’s offering a lot,” Raylan told Dan as they walked through the Miami marshals’ office.

The office was pretty much how Raylan remembered it too – busy and bustling. He got a number of nods and a few pats on the back or the shoulder from people they passed that were old friends and colleagues. Miami was the polar opposite of Lexington and Raylan felt the pull of the city and its energy. He knew a lot of it had to do with the forced inactivity of his suspension (damn, did it feel good to be working again . . . even as a ‘consultant’) but there was something else nagging him too. It was the reminder that he had once strived so hard to escape Kentucky. But fate – not that Raylan considered himself to be the fatalistic sort, but it was his shooting of Tommy Bucks that had started the ball rolling – had brought him back, his own roots had kept him there and now it looked like he was planting new roots of his own, what with Winona and the baby, and his relationship with Tim. Was that what he really wanted? He and Winona hadn’t actually discussed where they were going to raise their baby girl, but there had been a time as well when she’d vowed never to return to Kentucky again. Yet they’d somehow both ended up back at Lexington. In Winona’s case, that had been Gary’s doing. Raylan suspected that Winona would be amenable to moving. 

As part of his promotion, he’d been given his choice of assignment but that wasn’t effective until his suspension had been served. So far, only Art was aware of that. It’s not that Raylan was purposefully keeping this from Tim (okay, so maybe he was) but he wasn’t quite ready to broach this topic with him yet. It seemed a lot to ask of Tim to uproot his entire life for him, although Raylan was fairly confident that he could swing a double transfer at this point. The Drew Thompson case had bought him a lot of goodwill and there were other Chief Deputies that he was friends with across the country aside from Art and Dan. Still, everything with Tim was so new and on shaky ground. They needed stability or a semblance of it. Raylan wasn’t sure if that translated into a clean break with Kentucky or not. 

“Raylan, you listening?” 

“’Course,” Raylan said automatically, even though he had no idea what Dan had just said. 

Judging by the look on Dan’s face, he knew that too. “I just said that you’re back on active duty.” 

That grabbed Raylan’s attention and he looked at Dan doubtfully. “You can do that?” 

Dan sighed. “Art will be pissed but he’ll get over it. Think of it as a suspension of your suspension.” 

“Cute.” 

“I thought so,” Dan said with a grin. Then he sobered. “You’re right about Viktor. He’s offering a lot and some of it falls out of our jurisdiction. We’ve got the lead on this since he’s technically your CI now, but I got a few more old friends for you to meet.” 

It wasn’t long before Raylan found himself in a converted conference room. Dan had been busy mobilizing an inter-agency task force based on the information Viktor had given Raylan. Aside from the Marshals service, there was the DEA and the ATF, not to mention Raylan’s favorite branch of federal law enforcement, the FBI. Raylan had worked on inter-agency task forces before and he knew how quickly these things could degenerate into clusterfucks with the various groups vying for jurisdiction, hindering each other instead of helping each other. They were all on the same team, for fuck’s sake. 

The key to inter-agency work was choosing your contacts well and this wasn’t Dan’s first rodeo. The DEA rep was Carlos Hontiveros, an old friend of Raylan’s. They’d once tracked a fugitive across the Mexican border, which strictly speaking, hadn’t been legal, but they’d persuaded the man in question (together with his very pregnant wife) to return to the U.S. with them. It had helped that Carlos had friends in the Federales. Then there was Doug Carlton with the ATF. Raylan didn’t share the same sort of history with Doug as he did with Carlos, but he knew that Doug was a professional and good at his job. He was the sort of man Raylan could work with. As for the FBI, he was staying clear of them. His recent history with them in Lexington had left a bad taste in his mouth, especially once he’d found out that Special Agent Barkley had been on Theo Tonin’s payroll. It explained a lot. Like why the Feds had been headhunting him during that mess with Quarles. Neither were they pleased as a whole that the Marshals had taken the Drew Thompson case away from them, even less that the Marshals had done in about a week what they’d failed to do for thirty years. Apparently, grudges like that didn’t stop at the state boundary. 

The afternoon went by slowly as these gatherings tended to do. There was a lot of planning and coordination to be done and Viktor hadn’t given them much of a window, hence the urgency of his calls. There was a big shipment of drugs coming in the following night, the kind of shipment that would break Gio’s hold on the city for good. The word was out that Gio was losing his supplier in Cuba to the Russians in exchange for firearms, the one commodity that Gio couldn’t provide. Apparently, money laundering wasn’t enough these days. 

Raylan may have been returned to active duty, but he sat back and let Dan direct the proceedings. The drugs were Carlos’s responsibility, the firearms belonged to Doug. Technically, Viktor wasn’t even a fugitive and if he turned state’s evidence, the deal he’d eventually make would be with the FBI. Viktor wouldn’t enter the Marshals’ purview again unless he went into Witsec. But the Marshals were spearheading this because Viktor wouldn’t deal with anyone else and that made Raylan antsy. There was something off about everything. It seemed too easy, the timing too convenient and hell, when did anything come easy or convenient these days? 

“You look like someone ate your cat,” Carlos said to him as he handed Raylan a mug of coffee. 

Raylan took the mug and nodded his thanks as Carlos sat beside him. “I look like a cat person to you?” he asked after a while. 

“As I recall, you had some mighty cat-taming skills in Tijuana,” Carlos reminded him. 

Raylan laughed. “That was a one-time deal,” he said with a smile. 

“Thank fuck,” Carlos said under his breath. “Because if we ever end up doing that again, it’ll be too soon.” 

Raylan was still grinning. “It turned out all right,” he pointed out. 

“Easy for you to say. I’m the one with the scars.” 

“Hey, next time if you want to tame the tiger while I deliver the baby, we can do that too.” 

“You’re still a ball of laughs, Givens.” 

“And you still have a fine ass, scars and all.” 

Carlos looked somewhat appeased as he drank his coffee. _That was another difference between Miami and Lexington_ , Raylan realized. The coffee in the Miami office was made from pure Arabica beans. God bless, Dan. 

“Seriously,” Carlos said, bringing Raylan out of his thoughts. “You don’t look too enthusiastic about this at all.” 

“I don’t trust ‘im,” Raylan replied. 

“Petrovich?” 

“Yeah.” 

“He’s your CI.” 

“His half- _brother_ was my CI,” Raylan corrected. “Ronny may have been a gutless wonder but I _knew_ him. I don’t know this guy at all and something feels off. How can you trust a man that killed his own brother?” 

Carlos shrugged. “Could be a set-up,” he agreed. “But you know it’s a risk we got to take. We haven’t had a lead this good since . . .” he trailed off. “Fuck, I don’t know,” he said at last. “What I do know is that we have a real chance to take down the Petrenko crime family and if we do, that’ll blowback all the way up the East coast. We could break the back of the Russian mafia. There’s a lot at stake here.” 

“Yeah, so the Chinese can move in on that territory. Or the Italians could reclaim a stake. The Jamaicans. The Albanians.” 

“All right, Mr. Glass-Half-Empty. I get the picture. Congratulations, by the way,” Carlos added. 

Raylan gave him a puzzled look. 

“The Thompson case.” 

“You heard about that?” 

“It’s been making the rounds.” 

“Well, thanks.” 

“The FBI doesn’t look too pleased to see you though.” 

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.” 

* * * * *

Tim and Kelly were both big fans of Mexican food, so the following night they had dinner at Fernando’s, the undisputed best source of burritos, quesadillas and all other forms of Mexican cuisine in Lexington – in all of Kentucky, Tim would wager. Tim put salsa and cilantro on everything. They were already on their second carafe of sangria when his phone rang.

“It’s your boyfriend,” Kelly said, reading Raylan’s name on the display. 

Tim shot him an annoyed look as he wiped his hands on a napkin. 

“Well, he is. Isn’t he?” Kelly prodded. 

Tim chose not to answer the question, picking up his mobile instead. “Hey,” he said into the receiver. “Things turn into a total clusterfuck yet?” 

“No, but they’re about to,” Raylan replied. He sounded amused but there was an undertone of seriousness in his voice that let Tim know that Raylan wasn’t really joking either. 

“So much for your simple case.” 

“You called it.” Raylan sighed. “If this whole sting operation goes belly up tomorrow night, I should be done here anyway. Most of this stuff is out of our jurisdiction.” 

Tim’s eyebrows rose at the mention of a sting operation. “Do I wanna know?” 

“Probably not. How are you doing?” 

“Aside from Art popping a blood vessel at your return to active duty, it’s been a quiet day.” 

“Heard about that, did you?” 

“I think the whole office heard.” 

“Well, tell Art I’m laying low, letting all the big boys do their thing.” 

“Will do. Anything else I should know?” 

“I think that’s it. I’ll call you when I’m headed back.” Raylan paused. “Or not. You can still come up here, y’know.” 

“So I can work on my tan,” Tim laughed. “Try not to get shot.” 

“You too.” 

Tim hung up and was greeted by Kelly’s question, “Remember when we tried to make a burrito in Kandahar?” 

“Tried is the operative word.” 

“Who knew wrapping rice could be so hard?” 

“The Japanese,” Tim deadpanned. “And given the meal that you prepared last night, you’re the one who should be embarrassed.” 

“I _am_.” Kelly paused. “You think we could’ve ever worked out?” 

Tim took a moment to carefully chew his food as he thought of an answer. He was surprised that Kelly was bringing this up but they had history and Kelly deserved an honest reply. 

“I didn’t think you were interested in that,” was the best Tim could do. “And the timing wasn’t good.” 

Kelly shrugged. “I didn’t think you were interested in that either,” he said. “And the timing was shit,” he added. “But I always suspected that you’d be . . . y’know . . . good at commitment.” 

Tim was about to say that the whole idea of commitment was alien to him, but Kelly was still talking. 

“I guess it’s just a matter of finding the right person together with the right timing, and it looks like you found that.” 

Tim had to laugh. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I mean, Raylan’s great, but . . .” 

But what? He wasn’t The One? ‘Cos that’s sure as hell how Kelly was making him sound. Tim didn’t believe in that sort of thing and he knew that Raylan didn’t either. While he recognized that Raylan was special, he’d never dream of framing him in that way. The cowboy would run for the hills for sure. 

“What I mean is,” Tim began again since Kelly was obviously waiting for an answer. “Raylan’s not exactly relationship material.” 

“Uh-huh. That’s why he moved in with you.” 

“That was a bit impulsive on both our parts,” Tim admitted. “This could blow up in our faces real soon.” 

“Why are you with him then?” 

“Because he makes me stupid.” 

“That’s called love.” 

“Didn’t I say that we’re not having this conversation?” Tim said, his defenses beginning to prickle. “Why are you so interested anyway?” 

Kelly shrugged again. “Your cowboy is . . . intriguing.” 

If Kelly had said ‘hot’ or ‘smokin’ or even ‘a good lay,’ Tim would’ve felt better. But ‘intriguing’ was not a word that he expected to come out of Kelly’s mouth. The whole conversation was getting a bit weird and Tim thought it was time to shift it on to other things. 

“So, what have you been up to?” 

Perhaps that wasn’t the best question to ask since Kelly’s mood grew somber. “I’m working for my father now.” 

“The family business?” Tim asked incredulously. “The one you joined the army to get away from?” Both he and Kelly had used the army as an escape. It was one of the things that had brought them together. 

Kelly nodded. “Family has a way of catching up with you.” 

Tim’s thoughts flashed to Raylan and he realized how true that statement was. “What does your family do anyway?” 

“Import and export,” Kelly answered, somewhat evasively. “We’re mostly in shipping.” 

Somehow Tim couldn’t see his friend working behind a desk as a clerk. Kelly was as athletic and outdoorsy as they come. Apparently, Kelly was thinking the same thing because he said, “Don’t worry. I’m not trapped in a cubicle. I mostly get sent out on jobs.” 

“You on a job right now?” 

“You could say that.” 

“And here I thought you were just visiting a friend.” 

“I’m not opposed to mixing business with pleasure. We’ve done it before, right?” 

Tim smiled into his glass but said nothing. He brushed aside the niggling feeling that something was off about his friend tonight. Kelly was asking personal questions they’d never talked about before, lightly coming on to him but also being cagey. And his interest in Raylan was . . . odd. He wondered how this dinner would’ve gone if Raylan had actually been there with them.

* * * * *

What Tim couldn’t have known was that Raylan was having his own odd dinner in Miami with his own pseudo-ex. Raylan could count on one hand the number of men he’d fucked in his life and the DEA agent sitting with him now was one of those men. Contrary to his actions of late, Raylan did not make it a habit to sleep with colleagues. It could potentially become too awkward at work and Raylan preferred to keep work and his personal life separate. (Yeah, so Tim was totally destroying those rules.) But this thing with Carlos had happened through sheer, dumb luck. Raylan wondered if they would’ve fallen into bed together if the shit hadn’t hit the fan in Tijuana. Or had they fallen into bed together _because_ the shit had hit the fan? He wasn’t so sure anymore. What he was sure of was that they’d stayed in touch over the years, collaborated a few more times and had fallen into bed every single time. It was part of their routine and he could feel them slipping into it again like a comfortable worn jacket. Carlos was the tall, dark and handsome type. Alpha male. Mostly straight. Good with the ladies, equally good with the men. Fantastic in bed. If Raylan had had an ounce of narcissism, it would’ve been like sleeping with himself.

“You’re from Kentucky,” Carlos was saying. “And you drag me all the way out here for surf and turf?” 

“No, I dragged you all the way out here for the spicy fried chicken,” Raylan corrected. “It’s the best I’ve ever had, in or out of Kentucky.” 

“You’ll make Colonel Sanders jealous.” 

“Colonel Sanders can kiss my ass.” 

There was a glint in Carlos’s eye and Raylan knew he’d left himself wide open for an attack, but it never came. 

“I think I’ll stick to the surf,” Carlos said instead. 

“Fine, order the crab. But you don’t know what you’re missing.” 

“I’ll just steal one of your chicken wings, shall I? Maybe trade you for a claw?” 

Raylan shook his head as he took a drink of his beer. Carlos could match Tim with that quick wit. Maybe that’s why he was attracted to both of them. 

“How’s Winona?” 

“Very pregnant.” 

“Well, congratulations. It is yours, I hope,” Carlos added as an afterthought. 

“It is,” Raylan assured him. 

“Boy or girl?” 

“Girl.” 

“Thought of any names yet?” 

“Winona’s got the naming books, but I’m not gonna put up a fight. I don’t think I have much say in this department.” 

“Hmm . . . a wise man knows when he’s defeated,” Carlos agreed. 

“Did you just call me wise?” 

“It’s supposed to come with age.” 

“I think I’m more ‘Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.’” 

“Dogs are creatures of habit,” Carlos replied, flashing the waitress who was serving their food a warm smile. She returned it with one of her own. Raylan knew that Carlos could easily pick her up for the night if he wanted to, which was probably a good thing given what he was about to say next. 

“Just so you know,” Raylan began when the waitress moved on. “I’m not sleeping with you.” 

Carlos, who had just removed the shell of his crab and cracked it in half, looked up, mildly amused. “I know we’ve always been direct,” he replied. “But isn’t that a bit presumptuous?” 

Raylan shrugged. “We’re creatures of habit too and I’m just telling you what’s what,” he said, wrapping the end of a drumstick with a napkin. 

“Have I lost my charm?” 

“Far from it. I’m just . . . involved with someone.” 

“Winona’s got you on a tight leash?” 

“Someone else.” 

Carlos began to laugh. “You always have too much going on,” he said, leaning over and spearing a chicken wing. Raylan was starting to see the truth of that statement. “And just for the record,” Carlos went on. “I wouldn’t have hit on you until _after_ we'd wrapped up the case. Business first.” 

Raylan chuckled, clinking the neck of his beer bottle against Carlos’s bottle. “Business first,” he agreed.


	3. And Then It All Went To Hell

The arrival manifest said that the Armitage would be docking at 11:30pm. Everything had been quietly set-up hours before and now Raylan was in the makeshift control center at the docks, looking at a bank of monitors and listening to the audio that was coming through. Most of it was in Russian and it looked like the FBI’s resident Russian translator would have his work cut out for him. So far the chatter had consisted of a lot of sports, largely centering on how much the Miami Marlins sucked. Raylan could appreciate the irony of Russians discussing America’s national pastime. And the Marlins really did suck. At some point in the evening, Dan appeared on his left. 

“How’d it go?” he asked. 

“Smooth,” Raylan replied. 

“Then why do you sound like you had a bad day at the dentist’s?” 

Raylan gave his former boss a mildly irritated glance. “Wearing a wire don’t make him trustworthy,” he said. 

Raylan had met Viktor earlier and put the wire on his new CI himself. Viktor hadn’t put up a fight, hadn’t even been the least bit concerned that he might be searched and caught. The guy must’ve been more than a hired thug. It was the wire that Viktor was wearing that was providing most of the audio now. 

“Viktor wearing a wire is better than Viktor not wearing a wire,” Dan told him. 

Raylan had to concede that was true, but that didn’t put him any more at ease. His sole focus was on Viktor. Everyone else was competent at their jobs and knew what to do. But if this was a set-up of some kind, Raylan knew that Viktor would be the key and he wasn’t about to let him get away. 

“Always thought the Russians would talk about ice-hockey,” Carlos said, standing to Raylan’s left. 

“Or tobogganing,” Raylan muttered. 

Carlos looked like he was about to laugh, but the seriousness in the room made him hold it in. He gave Raylan a sideways look. “You’ve been Mr. Grumpy all day. Should I order some spicy fried chicken for you?” 

“Don’t think they deliver at this hour,” Raylan replied, only half-joking and still focused on the bank of monitors. 

Just then there was some movement on a monitor on the left, one of the monitors covering the outside of the building they were in. It looked like the head honchos were arriving. 

“Don’t the bad guys go to sleep?” Doug said, appearing on Raylan’s right. “It would be considerate of them to give us a major drug and firearms bust in the light of day.” 

“Then we’d be in Mexico,” Carlos told him and Raylan had to suppress a smile. 

The three of them watched as the men got out of their vehicles. They were well dressed and heavily armed, a lot classier than the criminals Raylan had been dealing with of late. 

“No Anatoly Petrenko,” Carlos noted, studying the monitor carefully. 

“Could still be inside one of the vehicles,” Raylan replied. He’d made it a point to familiarize himself with the files of the Petrenko crime family earlier that afternoon. He knew Gio’s cartel well, but wasn’t nearly as well versed with the Russian mob. “His right hand is here,” Raylan went on, recognizing Oleg. 

Oleg Kossinki was a mean sonofabitch. He was more than a leg breaker too. There was cunning and intelligence behind his cruelty. Viktor entered the scene and walked right up to Oleg, taking a place on his right. Raylan’s frown deepened. His guess that Viktor was more than a hired thug looked to be spot on. The chatter had stopped. The Russians were waiting. 

What the Russians were waiting for was made clear as a group of men disembarked from the newly docked Armitage. The Armitage was a private cargo vessel run by the Delmar Group, a subsidiary of one of the legitimate businesses of the mob. It made sense, Raylan thought, if you were hauling so much illegitimate cargo back and forth, to have your own shipping company. Carlos had told him that pretty much everyone knew that Delmar was a cover for the Petrenkos, but until Viktor had come along, the feds had been unable to find a valid reason to get a search warrant, much less know which ship to specifically search. The records on Delmar were clean. 

The men from the Armitage came into view and Doug let out a low whistle. “Holy shit,” he said. “Is that Yero?” he asked. 

Carlos confirmed that it was. 

Dan, who was now standing with them and intently watching the screen, said quietly to Raylan, “I guess the rumors are true. The Cubans are dumping Gio for the Russians. This deal is big enough to bring Yero out into the open.” 

“And Yero would be?” 

“Not the number one guy in Cuba,” Carlos filled in. “But close enough.” 

Dan was speaking into an earpiece, reminding the troops to hold their positions as they watched the two groups meet. Raylan followed the scene as it unfolded, his attention on Viktor never faltering. Viktor had fallen back a little but was still near enough that the audio from his wire came through clearly. Everyone was speaking in English now, so no translations were required. There was still no sign of Anatoly Petrenko and it looked like the lieutenants would be conducting this business deal. 

“We gonna get them out in the open?” Raylan asked. 

“We have the high ground,” Dan said. 

Before Dan could give the word for the various agents of law enforcement to move in, Raylan slipped away from the group, aware that Carlos was close behind. 

“You my shadow?” he asked casually as they left the command post and entered the balmy Miami night. 

“More like your back-up for when you do something stupid,” Carlos shot back. 

Raylan grinned outright this time, knowing that Carlos couldn’t see it. He suspected that Carlos and Tim would get along just fine. 

Dan’s voice was in the earpiece he’d slipped on as he’d left the building and he knew precisely when Dan gave the order for the meeting to be raided. Raylan picked up his pace and Carlos followed suit. They’d both drawn their weapons. Judging by the sound of the gunfire that suddenly erupted, it didn’t look like the Russians or the Cubans were going down quietly. When Raylan arrived at the scene, he took in the sight of Yero being protected by his men, trying to get him into the relative safety of one of the vehicles for a possible escape. Raylan knew that would be a long shot at best. Oleg, on the other hand, was seeking no such protection and it was under his direction that the Russians, who were showing the greater resistance of the two groups, were fighting back. 

Raylan didn’t engage anyone in the main firefight. He was only looking for one figure and he found him moving away from the bursts of gunfire. Raylan motioned to Carlos the direction that he’d seen Viktor go and Carlos nodded. They left their colleagues to take care of the mob and the Cubans to follow Viktor, who was moving swiftly between storage containers that had been offloaded and were awaiting transport. 

“Still think he’s trustworthy?” Raylan asked as he and Carlos sped after the errant CI. 

“Never said he was trustworthy,” Carlos corrected. “I said he’s a risk we got to take. And it looks like that risk paid off.” 

“We’ll know soon enough,” Raylan said under his breath as they slipped into a narrow alley between two buildings. They could see Viktor about to exit the alley ahead and Raylan was gripped with the realization that Viktor probably had transport somewhere. They had to reach him before he got to it. 

Viktor was leaving the docks, crossing the street into an area of low-grade housing. Raylan saw him heading for one of the single-story houses. Carlos had seen it too and when they reached the rundown house, Raylan motioned that Carlos should go round the back. Carlos nodded quickly, disappearing down the right side of the house. Raylan approached the front door, which was slightly ajar. He pushed it open with his right foot and the door swung open easily. He entered the main living area, the room illuminated by the moonlight that streamed through the windows and the occasional passing car. Raylan scanned it, not detecting any motion in the shadows cast along the walls and the floor. The silence was broken by a thumping sound coming from the direction of the bedrooms and Raylan moved towards the hallway leading to the back of the house. Movement on his right caught his eye and he turned to see Carlos entering through the kitchen, shutting the screen door gently so that it didn’t bang behind him. Together they walked down the hallway until a muffled voice could be heard babbling incoherently. It certainly wasn’t Viktor talking. From the side of the open bedroom door, Raylan could see Viktor pointing his gun at a person tied to a chair, the hood over this stranger’s face the cause of the muffled babbling. 

“Viktor,” Raylan called from the cover of the hallway. “Is this how CIs behave these days?” 

“I delivered what I promised I would, Marshal,” Viktor replied, his aggressive stance not wavering. “Thought you’d be pleased.” 

“We are,” Raylan answered. “Why don’t you come in with us and claim the rest of your deal?” 

“The deal’s pretty good, but I got a better offer.” 

“What could be better than avoiding criminal prosecution?” Raylan inquired. “Or death?” he added as an afterthought. 

“You’d be surprised, Marshal.” Viktor sounded amused. 

“No, I doubt I would be.” 

When Raylan’s remark was met with silence, Raylan called out, “Viktor?” Glancing into the room, Raylan muttered, “Un-fucking-believable,” more to himself than anyone else present. Viktor was gone and only the stranger tied to the chair with a hood over his head remained. 

“I’ve got this,” Carlos said, striding into the room and before Raylan knew it, Carlos had gone out the open window, the only possible avenue of Viktor’s escape. 

Raylan was too pissed at himself to follow and he wasn’t really the jump out the open window type. He hadn’t thought that Viktor would be either. He walked over to the stranger and yanked the hood off his head a little forcefully as he said, “Who the hell are you?” 

“Marshal,” said the relieved voice. “Thank god, it’s you.” 

Raylan peered down at the man in the chair as the stranger stretched his neck and looked up. 

“Pinter? What the hell are you doing here?” 

“It’s a long story.” 

“It had better be good.” 

“You’ll love it,” Pinter said, voice raspy. “All the good stuff – sex, lies, violence. Real hardboiled crime.” 

“You know this guy?” 

Carlos was back with them, entering through the more orthodox way of the door. 

“Yeah,” Raylan said, still somewhat distracted at the unexpected surprise of seeing Pinter. “He’s . . . uh . . . another CI.” He paused. “Viktor?” 

Carlos shook his head. “There was a car waiting for him at the back of the house.” 

Raylan grimaced. He couldn’t believe how badly he’d fucked this one up. Had being on suspension made him that rusty? He returned his attention to Pinter. Maybe the chase hadn’t been a complete waste. Pinter was part of a bigger puzzle that Raylan was yet to solve. There was a good chance that Pinter could help with that. 

“Who is this guy?” Carlos was asking at the same time as Pinter said, “You think you could untie me, Marshal? I’m cramping up pretty bad.” 

“This is Arnold Pinter,” Raylan said, introducing Pinter to Carlos as he began to untie the knots binding Pinter’s arms and wrists. 

“Another CI?” Carlos confirmed, bending down to undo the ropes around Pinter’s ankles. 

“Oh, yeah.” 

Carlos stood up when he was finished and gave Raylan a look. “Do they just grow on trees for you?” 

Pinter stood up slowly as well, creaky and sore. He was dwarfed by the two taller men. “The Marshal and me go way back,” he told Carlos. “He saved my life.” 

“He does that on occasion,” Carlos said dryly, eyes never leaving Raylan’s face. 

Raylan sighed and put a hand on Pinter’s shoulder. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.”

* * * * *

By the time they brought Pinter back to the Marshal’s office it was nearly 2am. Dan was still at the docks overseeing everything. Viktor had given them the slip and he’d only delivered half of what he’d promised. The firearms were indeed there, to be sold together with cash in exchange for the drugs. The drugs, however, were nowhere to be found. No one was more surprised by this than Yero. He must’ve severely pissed someone off to be delivered to the feds on a silver platter together with the Russians.

“Can’t we do this in the morning?” Pinter asked, slumped in a chair in one of the interrogation rooms. 

“It is morning,” Carlos pointed out, standing across from Pinter with his arms crossed. He cut an imposing figure that Raylan could appreciate. Apparently, Carlos felt like playing bad cop so Raylan followed his lead. 

“We just want to have a conversation, Pinter,” Raylan said amiably, placing a mug of freshly brewed Arabica coffee in front of Pinter and then lounging casually in the chair opposite him. His role was the easygoing cowboy next to Carlos’s stern DEA agent. 

“And then I can get some sleep?” Pinter asked hopefully. 

“In a big comfortable bed in a nice hotel,” Raylan informed him. “With a security detail and room service,” he added and then paused, leaning forward slightly. “Now, how did you get mixed up in this?” 

“There was this girl, Ana,” Pinter began in his storytelling tone. “Short for Anastasia.” 

“The abridged version,” Carlos interrupted. 

Pinter looked up at him, slightly annoyed. “This is the sex part. Don’t you want to hear about the sex?” 

“No.” 

Raylan stifled a laugh. “Anastasia?” he prompted. 

Pinter returned his attention to Raylan as he leaned forward and inhaled the scent of the coffee before taking a small sip. “You got good coffee here, Marshal,” he commented appreciatively. 

“It sure beats Lexington,” Raylan agreed. “Anastasia?” he repeated. 

“Right, Ana.” Pinter leaned back again, this time in a better mood. “She starts working in my restaurant. Hot. Long legs. Reminds me of Maria Sharapova, just not quite as athletic. At least, not at tennis.” 

“You do have a thing for blondes,” Raylan pointed out. “And they’ve gotten you into trouble before.” 

“They’re a weakness,” Pinter conceded sheepishly. “But Ana . . .” He sighed. “She was special. She convinced me it was time to get out of Kentucky.” 

“The Escape Fund?” 

“It’s grown into a healthy nest egg,” Pinter said, somewhat proudly. “Ana was from Miami. She missed her family and wanted to go back.” Pinter shrugged. “I had fond memories of Miami. It would be like Tahiti all over again, only this time people would speak English.” He took a long drink of his coffee. “So anyway,” he went on, “Ana told me that there was a job for me here. Y’know, something I’d be good at.” 

“A restaurant?” Carlos asked somewhat dubiously. He was now leaning with his back against the wall of the interrogation room, arms still crossed. Carlos had a talent for leaning on things that could almost give Raylan a run for his money. 

“That’s not my real job,” Pinter said with more sarcasm than Raylan thought was possible for him. “The Marshal here knows what I do.” 

Raylan grinned and turned to Carlos. “He’s a fixer.” 

“Nothing really illegal though,” Pinter quickly added. “Just small potatoes until . . .” 

“The mob?” Carlos offered dryly. 

Pinter shrugged again, but it was in defeat. “How was I supposed to know that Ana was a Petrenko? She’s not Anatoly’s daughter or anything. A niece, I think? Twice removed?” 

“Background checks,” Raylan said. “You’re good at that.” 

“I was blinded by love!” Pinter said helplessly. 

“More like sex.” 

“Wait,” Carlos interrupted. “This doesn’t explain why you were tied up in an abandoned house and about to be shot if you’re ‘in’ with the Petrenko family.” 

“That,” Pinter groaned. “That’s all Viktor. Once I’d figured out what was really going on, he kept me tied up as a loose end to be taken care of later. I was the one that told him that his brother was an informant. ‘Course it kinda gave away that I used to be an informant too. _Am_ ,” he quickly corrected. “Am an informant.” Then Pinter took another long drink of his coffee as though he needed to steel himself for the next part of his tale. “Since you want the abridged version,” he said, shooting Carlos a disapproving look. “This is what’s really happening. You’ve probably heard that Gio Reyes is losing out to the Russians and that the drug shipment tonight was supposed to drive Gio out for good.” 

Raylan nodded his assent. It’s pretty much what Dan and Viktor had told him. 

“Well, that’s only partially true. Gio _was_ losing out to the Russians but he’s a smart man and instead of fighting an all-out war with them, he decided to make a deal.” 

“You’re saying that the Russians and Gio are joining forces,” Carlos clarified. This was clearly news to him and it was going to make his job a helluva lot harder. 

“Gio wasn’t there tonight,” Raylan said. “Nobody from his cartel was there tonight.” 

Pinter was grinning like he knew a mad secret that he was about to share. “You noticed that, did you?” he said with a bit too much delight. “Gio lured the Russians in and then he sold them out using Viktor. He even got that bigwig in Cuba who wanted to cut ties with him in favor of the Petrenkos. Bet he didn’t see that coming. The double-cross of all double-crosses, eh?” 

Raylan and Carlos exchanged a quick glance. That explained Yero’s predicament. In one fail swoop, Gio had reconsolidated his claim on Miami and his ties to the Cubans. Anatoly Petrenko may not have been among those taken into custody, but a good portion of his criminal organization had been. Even if they didn’t turn on their boss (and people like Oleg would never talk), the feds finally had enough evidence to start legal proceedings against the Petrenkos. It wouldn’t surprise Raylan if Anatoly was on his way to seek refuge somewhere, much like Theo Tonin had done. 

Raylan stood up. He’d heard enough. Viktor had set them up and it turned out that he was a double agent working for Gio. He still didn’t know what had happened to Ronny, but Raylan figured he’d get those answers directly from Viktor, now that he had a lead on how to go about finding him. 

“Marshal, wait,” Pinter said suddenly, quickly putting together that his ‘interrogation’ was over. “There’s more you gotta hear. You, especially, gotta hear this.” 

Raylan sat down again and Carlos, who had been walking towards the door, stopped as well. With the good-cop, bad-cop routine no longer necessary, he took the seat beside Raylan for one more story. 

“We gotta go back a bit to the deal Gio made with the Russians. Or the deal the Russians _thought_ Gio was making,” Pinter revised. “You know how cartels have long memories and they don’t forgive grudges?” 

Raylan’s thoughts flashed to Rolly Pike and how Gio had gone after him when Pike had resurfaced after six years of hiding. Yep, the cartel had a long memory. “I have some idea,” he said. 

“Well, what sealed the deal between Gio and the Russians was you.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“You,” Pinter repeated. “You were the icing on the cake that Gio asked for as part of a partnership with the Russians.” 

“You telling me that Gio put a hit on me?” 

“You’re a popular guy, my friend,” Carlos said quietly and Raylan knew the bastard was trying not to laugh. 

“I hear you’ve offended him an awful lot, Marshal,” Pinter said, sounding almost apologetic. “And he couldn’t put the hit on you himself, not with the Marshals here watching him so closely.” That must’ve been a reference to Dan’s not-so-veiled-threat for Gio to leave Raylan alone. “But I think someone must’ve gotten their wires crossed somewhere because this hit hasn’t gone down the way it should’ve. I know that Anatoly Petrenko sent someone down to Lexington to get you. Obviously, he didn’t know that Viktor was gonna sell him out, but he sure as hell didn’t expect you to come up to Miami voluntarily either.” 

“There’s someone in Lexington now?” Raylan asked, this news not sitting well with him. 

“Yeah,” Pinter confirmed. “But I don’t know who.”

* * * * *

Tim was more than a little drunk. Drinking was something he and Kelly had always been good at, although something at the back of Tim’s mind prickled that it probably wasn’t too advisable to fall into old habits this time. They were both sprawled on the couch in the living room. Tim had an amazingly comfortable, plush couch that he and Raylan had put to good use since Raylan had moved in. He wondered how Raylan was doing. He hadn’t heard from him all day. It was a sure sign that they were in a full-blown relationship when you expected your other half to check in on you at least once a day. Tim hadn’t called either, but that’s because he knew that Raylan was probably neck-deep in shit. That sting operation that Raylan had so casually mentioned was probably happening at that very moment. He knew that Raylan would get back to him when it was done, however that turned out.

Tim had grown quiet and contemplative in his drunken state, so contemplative that he hadn’t noticed that Kelly had shifted closer to him until their faces were almost touching. Tim was caught off guard by those amazing brown eyes. They’d always been so warm, so understanding at a time when there had been little else in his life but the rules, rigidity and authority of the army. Kelly leaned in and Tim returned his kiss instinctively. It felt good at first, the familiarity of Kelly’s taste and scent. They’d gone through a lot of shit together, but there were good times there too. Tim let the kiss run its course and when it had, he put a firm hand on Kelly’s chest to stop him from leaning in again. 

“You can’t be stealing kisses like that anymore,” Tim chided. 

Kelly didn’t back away, but he didn’t lean forward either. He just held his position, much too close for Tim’s liking. 

“Raylan doesn’t look like the type who’d mind,” Kelly said. 

Tim remembered Raylan’s half-joke about enjoying Kelly’s company if he got lonely, and realized that there might actually be some truth to that statement. 

“’Course he could also be the real possessive type,” Kelly went on. “But your cowboy seemed pretty laid back to me, and you did say that he’s not made of relationship material.” 

Tim was starting to grow irritated at Kelly’s assumptions. “Even if Raylan wouldn’t mind,” he said, a hard edge to his voice. “I would. Back off.” 

Instead of heeding Tim’s quiet command, Kelly pushed forward, pinning Tim against the sofa and holding his wrists tightly. 

“Kelly, what the fuck?” Tim said, truly pissed off now. 

“Don’t fight me,” Kelly warned him, now deadly serious. 

Tim felt a kernel of panic grow in the pit of his stomach but he outwardly remained calm, only revealing his anger and annoyance at his friend’s actions. 

“There’s something important I gotta tell you.” 

“You think you could do it from a distance, without molesting me or breaking my wrists?” Tim snapped. 

Tim could see his fire reflected in Kelly’s eyes. The warmth was gone, replaced by a challenge. Tim realized that whatever the hell was going on, he was taking the wrong approach. His defiant attitude was probably turning the other man on. Rough sex wasn’t uncommon for them. Tim stopped resisting and willed his body to relax, growing pliant underneath the other man. 

“What do you need to tell me?” he asked quietly in a non-threatening manner. 

Tim’s change in demeanor had the immediate desired effect and he could see the challenge burning out of Kelly’s eyes. The other man sighed, resting his forehead against Tim’s chest. He seemed defeated and if Tim’s wrists weren’t still pinned, he might’ve even put a comforting hand on Kelly’s back. As it was, all he could do was lay there patiently until Kelly decided to speak again. 

It seemed a long time before Kelly finally moved, but he eventually sat up, still straddling Tim. He didn’t quite release him but at least Tim had a bit more freedom to move his legs. Kelly had effectively locked them before so that Tim had had zero mobility. The truth was that while Tim had the upper hand at the range, in hand-to-hand combat, Kelly had almost always gotten the best of him. Kelly still had his wrists pinned but that kernel of panic that Tim had felt before had disappeared. He didn’t really believe that Kelly would sexually assault him. He _couldn’t_ believe that. 

“Remember that job I mentioned before?” 

Okay, that was not what Tim had been expecting to hear but at this point, he just had to play along. “You mean the job you’re on for your family? The family business?” 

“Yeah, that one.” Kelly took a deep breath. “That job was Raylan.” 

“Raylan?” Tim repeated. He was completely lost now. 

“I was sent here to find Raylan.” 

“What?” 

“Tim, let me finish,” Kelly said impatiently. 

Tim shut up. Kelly had his full attention now and whatever drunken haze he’d been in before had long since dissipated. 

“I was sent here to find Raylan,” Kelly said again. “And when I found out that he was a Marshal, I thought of you right away. I thought you guys could be colleagues, maybe even friends. I came to your house hoping you could introduce me to him. What I _didn’t_ expect to find,” and here Kelly’s voice grew hard, “was the two of you shacked up together and so completely in-fucking-love.” Kelly shook his head in disbelief. “I told myself that first night that it didn’t matter, but you know what? It does. It was like seeing something you’d lost without ever realizing that you’d wanted it for yourself in the first place.” 

Tim could barely keep up with what Kelly was saying and very little of it was making any sense. So, Kelly had come here to find Raylan. Tim still didn’t know why. And had Kelly actually just confessed that he was in love with him? ‘Cos that’s what it sounded like but that couldn’t be right either. 

“Kelly, why do you want Raylan?” he asked quietly. 

Kelly’s response was tight-lipped silence. Judging by how his lips curled downwards into a frown of unhappiness, it couldn’t have been for anything good. Tim felt that small kernel of fear in his stomach grow again. Not for himself this time, but for Raylan. 

“What does your family do?” he pressed. 

Kelly looked away this time and Tim thought he could see shame in his friend’s expression. “Y’know how we joined the army to get away from our family?” he asked rhetorically. “I took it a step further. I had my name legally changed.” The laugh that followed that statement was hollow. “My name’s not really Kelly Davis,” he said, turning back to look at Tim. “It’s Yevgeny. Yevgeny Petrenko.” 

Tim felt like someone had just poured ice-cold water all over him. _Petrenko_. He recognized that name. Any fear or panic that he’d felt before either for Raylan or himself was gone. He was a Deputy U.S. Marshal and the game had just changed. 

“What happens now?” he asked calmly. 

“We’re going to Miami.”


	4. Pickin' Up the Pieces

It was 4am by the time Raylan collapsed on his own couch. At that point, he’d been up for approximately 22 hours and he was starting to feel it. Raylan still had an apartment in Miami and the friend who’d been looking after the place (and occasionally living there when she was in town) had gone well beyond the call of duty. He remembered how he’d teased Tim about hiring an interior decorator the first time he’d seen Tim’s house. Well, Kathy (the friend who had been pseudo-house sitting) actually _was_ an interior decorator and when she’d called about a month after he’d moved to Lexington saying how she’d like to work on his apartment, Raylan had said that it was fine by him. He didn’t know whether he was a charity case or not because he certainly hadn’t given Kathy any money for the ‘improvements’ (as she’d called it), but now he barely recognized his place. It was like one of those makeover shows. Maybe it was a good thing that Tim kept rebuffing his efforts to get him to fly to Miami. He’d never hear the end of it if Tim ever saw this place. 

Carlos put a glass of cognac on the coffee table in front of him. 

“This will put us straight to sleep,” Carlos said, sitting beside him. “Not that we need the extra help.” 

Raylan gave him a tired smile as he brought the glass to his lips and took a sip. Carlos always had impeccable taste. Raylan sometimes thought of him as the James Bond of the DEA. He certainly looked the part of the super-spy. Raylan had invited Carlos to stay with him after they’d had dinner the other night. He didn’t see any point in his friend staying in a hotel when he had a perfectly good two-bedroom apartment that was barely being used. 

“If it’s bothering you so much,” Carlos said into the early morning silence of the room. “You should just call. The worst that you’ll get is an earful. If it’s Winona, maybe not even that.” 

“What?” Raylan asked distractedly. 

“My point, exactly,” Carlos replied. “You’ve been distracted since Pinter talked about Anatoly Petrenko sending someone to Lexington. If you’re that concerned, you should call.” 

“Winona’s safe,” Raylan said. He didn’t have it in him at that moment to tell Carlos about being on Nicky’s list. “She’s up in Salt Lake actually, with her mother.” 

“Well, good.” Carlos gave Raylan a pointed look as if to say that answer wasn’t enough. 

“He can take care of himself,” Raylan said, feeling like the response was being pulled out of him. “Surprised?” he couldn’t help but ask, giving Carlos his own pointed look. 

Carlos shrugged, drinking the last of his cognac. “Given our own history, no,” he answered. “I’m more surprised that you’re in a serious relationship. You’re the crash and burn type, y’know.” 

“Says the man who thinks that a one-night stand makes a relationship.” 

Carlos chuckled. “Well, if that’s true, then you and I are practically married.” He stood up. “I’m turning in.” He glanced down at Raylan, still sprawled on the couch. “Call him,” he said one last time. 

“He’s an early riser,” Raylan answered, finishing off his cognac. “I’ll call him when he’s up.” 

“Suit yourself. See you in a couple of hours.” 

“You too.” 

Raylan did turn in and despite his fatigue and the glass of cognac, he slept fitfully. Perhaps he was developing his own internal alarm because when he turned over to check his clock, it was quarter to seven. He reached for the cordless phone by the clock and lying on his back, punched in the number to Tim’s house (their house?). He let it ring, thinking that Tim might be in the shower. When no one answered, he hung up. He remembered their houseguest and didn’t want to wake him up unnecessarily. Thirty minutes later, he tried again. Still no answer. Then he called Tim’s mobile directly in case he’d left exceedingly early for whatever reason. He let the mobile ring until it went directly to voice mail and Raylan left a message asking Tim to return his call. He tried the mobile twice more and each time the call went to voice mail. Raylan didn’t bother leaving additional messages but his concern was genuine now. By quarter to eight, he was calling Art. 

“Art, could you do me a favor and pass by Tim’s place on your way to work?” 

“Well, good morning to you too, Raylan,” Art said, sounding even more annoyed than usual. 

“Good morning, Art,” Raylan backtracked politely. “Could you pass by Tim’s place on your way to work?” 

“And why would I do that?” 

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of him. Just wanna make sure he’s okay.” 

“Your concern is touching but it’s still early, Raylan. He could be taking a shower or out for a run, whatever it is that Rangers do when they’re off the clock.” 

“That’s not really his routine,” Raylan said, hoping that he didn’t sound like he knew too much of Tim’s routine. His comment was met by silence at the other end. 

“You wanna tell me what this is really about?” 

Raylan thought about it for a split second before launching into the events of the past 48 hours. He knew that Dan had kept Art somewhat apprised when he’d called to inform Art of Raylan’s return to active duty, but a lot had happened since they’d spoken last. Art should know what was going on, especially since Raylan’s shit had blown back to Lexington. As usual. 

“Let me get this straight,” Art said when Raylan was done. “Gio Reyes put a hit on you through Anatoly Petrenko?” 

“That about sums it up.” 

“And this Viktor Petrovich probably killed your CI, who just happened to be his half brother, and then double-crossed the Russians." Art paused. "You don’t know where he is?” 

“I got some idea of where to start lookin’. At least we now know who he’s really workin’ for.” 

Art sighed. “Raylan,” he said. “The next time you have some time off for whatever reason, you think you could go somewhere really remote? Like Antarctica, maybe?” 

“I’ll bear that in mind, Art. Think you can go check on Tim?” 

“I’ll give him a call _and_ pass by the house,” Art added before Raylan could interrupt him. 

“Thanks, Art. Could you –” 

“And I’ll call you when I’ve got something,” Art added. “I knew you guys were getting close but I didn’t think you’d reached co-dependency.” 

“Partners look out for each other,” Raylan cut in before Art could say something potentially embarrassing. “He’d have my back too.” 

“All right, then,” Art said, sounding a tad dubious. “Talk to you soon.” 

Raylan hung up as he entered the kitchen. 

“Did you get through?” Carlos asked. He was in front of the stove and cracking open some eggs. “Hope you like them scrambled,” he added. 

“Scrambled’s good,” Raylan told him. “No, that was Art. The Chief Deputy back in Lexington,” he explained. “I asked him to stop by the house, make sure everything’s all right.” 

“You two are living together?” Carlos asked with an arch of an eyebrow. 

Raylan shook his head. “Don’t start,” he said tiredly. 

Carlos obliged with a sly grin and went back to scrambling their eggs. “What’s the plan for today?” he asked, shifting their conversation back towards work. 

“Go to the office and find out the latest from Dan. Then we’ll see from there,” Raylan answered, pouring himself a mug of black coffee. He leaned against the counter as he watched Carlos put the eggs on two plates. When Carlos began frying some breakfast sausages, Raylan just had to ask. “Where did all this food come from? I could’ve sworn my fridge was empty.” He knew for a fact that Kathy hadn’t been there for at least a month. 

Carlos shrugged. “I went to the supermarket yesterday.” 

“When in the hell did you find the time to do that?” Raylan asked incredulously. 

“I prioritize,” Carlos said dryly. “Otherwise we’d starve. You realize,” he said, turning over the sausages with a pair of tongs. “That I could be having room service right now. Instead, I’m making breakfast for both of us.” 

Raylan hid his smile in his mug as he took a drink of his coffee. “I don’t s’ppose you make pancakes,” he inquired offhandedly. 

Carlos glared at him. “As a matter of fact, I do.” 

Raylan didn’t push it by asking if Carlos had bought any pancake mix. Instead he said, “We wouldn’t have starved. There’s a healthy stack of delivery menus and when you think about it, that’s kinda like ordering room service too.” 

Carlos merely shook his head in exasperation and Raylan thought again about how his friend would remind him of Tim from time to time. He should introduce the two of them when he had the chance. He was growing more and more certain that they’d get along. After all, they both put up with him. Of course, thinking about Tim at that moment dampened his mood but Carlos was speaking and Raylan forced himself to focus on his words. 

“Been thinking about that hit that Gio put on you,” Carlos was saying. “Pinter was only partially right when he said that someone got their wires crossed. It’s really about the timing. If Gio’s plan all along was to double-cross the Russians –” 

“Then the hit should’ve happened _before_ the Russians were sold out or simultaneously,” Raylan finished off for him. 

“My bet is the latter,” Carlos said thoughtfully. “That’s why the timing was off.” 

“So, what you’re saying is now that the Russians have been nabbed, the hit’s been called off.” 

“Makes sense. There’s no point to it now.” Carlos paused. “Unless the Russians are vindictive or they want to use you as a bargaining chip to get back at Gio somehow.” 

“Wires could still be crossed,” Raylan said, his thoughts drifting back to Tim. “There’s a chance that whoever’s down in Lexington’s been out of touch with the mob. Button men get a job, they carry it out.” 

“Shoot first, don’t ask questions later,” Carlos agreed. 

“Point is, the assassin may not know that everything’s gone belly up over here,” Raylan went on. And what he didn’t say – but they were both thinking – was that hit men had no qualms about using family and friends to get what they wanted.

* * * * *

Art parked his car in front of Tim’s house and got out. He noticed right away that Tim’s SUV wasn’t in the driveway so he didn’t hold out much hope that his deputy would be at home. Tim often left for work early so that in itself wasn’t all that surprising. Still, he went through the motions and rang the doorbell. He waited. No answer. He buzzed again and waited a bit longer. Then he banged on the front door a couple of times for good measure, yelling, “Tim! You home?” When there was still no reply, Art made a quick round of the house noting that the windows were properly locked and that there had been no attempts at a break-in. If foul play had occurred, there was no evidence of it from the outside. He got out his phone and pulled up Raylan’s number, knowing that Raylan wouldn’t be pleased with this update.

“I’m standing outside the house and there’s nobody home,” Art said when Raylan picked up. “His car’s not here either.” 

“Did you try calling him?” Raylan sounded agitated. 

“I did,” Art assured him. “No answer, but . . .” _But what?_ Art thought. He didn’t have time to finish that thought because Raylan was talking. 

“What about his friend?” 

“What friend?” 

“Kelly something . . . Davis, I think. One of Tim’s Ranger buddies. He’s staying over. You didn’t see any sign of him?” 

“Raylan,” Art said patiently. “I told you there’s no one home. This Kelly fellow didn’t answer the door either.” 

There was a pause at the other end. 

“Art, the spare key’s under the loose stone on the right side of the pavement. Could you go inside a take a look?” 

“Raylan –” 

“Art, please. Could you just do it?” 

Art sighed. He’d never admit it to anyone but he did have a soft spot for Raylan. As hard and as often as he busted the other man’s chops, he also indulged him more than anyone else. That’s what he told himself as he followed Raylan’s request.

* * * * *

Raylan was leaning against the passenger side door of Carlos’s rented vehicle, arm propped on the windowsill as he listened to Art unlocking the front door of Tim’s house. He really owed Art one. Carlos was focused on the road ahead, but Raylan knew that he was listening intently to the conversation, or to the half that he could hear of it. They were on their way to the Marshals’ office.

“No one’s home, Raylan,” Art said after a while. “And everything looks fine. Gutterson’s typically tidy OC-ness is everywhere.” 

Raylan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Maybe signs of a struggle or evidence that Tim had been assaulted and forcibly removed from the house? 

“Could you check the bedrooms?” 

“Raylan.” Art’s tone told him that he was really pushing it, but Raylan went on anyway. 

“Mine is the first bedroom on the left and Tim’s is a bit further down the hall.” 

There was a heavy sigh at the other end but since no objection was forthcoming, Raylan figured that Art was humoring him a bit longer. 

“Didn’t think you’d be so tidy,” Art said with genuine surprise. 

“How tidy?” Raylan immediately asked. It’s not that he thought Kelly would be a slob, but there had to be evidence that the room was being used. 

“Like the cleaning lady just tidied up for the next guest,” Art answered. 

Rosa wasn’t due for another two days. Did that mean Kelly had left? Raylan had got the impression that Kelly would be staying for longer than that. 

“Art, do you see a dark blue duffel bag anywhere?” 

“Did you forget your luggage?” 

“Humor me, will you?” 

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” 

“Humor me some more.” 

“No, Raylan. There isn’t a dark blue duffel bag anywhere. Not even in the closet.” 

“Huh.” 

“Should I go check Tim’s room now?” Art’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “And where is Tim’s friend sleeping anyway?” 

“On the couch,” Raylan answered automatically. “It’s comfortable enough.” The first statement may have been a lie but the second one Raylan knew for a fact, although he was certain that Art wouldn’t be interested in those particular details. “And yeah, if you could check Tim’s room that would be swell.” 

There was some muffled silence as Raylan could hear Art walking down the short hallway followed by the click of a doorknob turning. Raylan hoped that they hadn’t left any incriminating evidence anywhere but Tim was careful about cleaning up and making sure it looked like only one person occupied that room. Raylan even made it point to brush his teeth in the bathroom down the hall, but he occasionally cheated and used Tim’s razor and he almost always used Tim’s mouthwash. 

“Raylan, I’m telling you,” Art said probably after doing a quick sweep of the room. “Everything looks fine. I know it’s a little odd that Tim hasn’t responded to either of our calls, but you did say that an old army buddy is visiting. They could’ve gone out last night, got totally smashed and ended up staying at some motel instead of driving back here. It would also explain why Tim hasn’t picked up because he’s probably got the mother of all hangovers.” 

Raylan stayed silent. As much as he hated to admit it, Art’s hypothesis was possible. Hell, before he and Tim had approached anything remotely ‘serious,’ they’d done precisely the same thing; only they’d ended up at _his_ old motel room. The only detail that didn’t fit was Kelly’s missing dark blue duffel bag. That wasn’t the sort of thing that you brought with you when you went out for a night on the town, unless Kelly had been planning to take off insanely early the next day, which, while possible, didn’t make much sense either. 

“Look, if Tim doesn’t check in later this morning for whatever reason,” Art was saying. “I’ll follow up on him. It’s so early he’s technically not even late. Good enough?” 

“It’ll do,” Raylan replied, even though what he really wanted to say was, ‘Put a BOLO on his car now!’ “Thanks, Art.” 

Raylan hung up and immediately tried Tim’s number one more time. Like all the other times he’d tried it, it went straight to voice mail. His customary sprawl turned into a bit of a slump in his seat. 

“Still not satisfied?” Carlos asked gently. 

Raylan forced himself to sit up a bit straighter. “Something don’t feel right,” he said. “Even hung over, Tim would make an effort to pick up his phone, especially given the number of times I’ve called. Not to mention Art.” 

“Let me get this straight,” Carlos said carefully. “You two are living together but you have separate rooms?” 

Raylan shook his head. Carlos was a lot like him in this respect. He just went straight to the point and Raylan, as usual, would answer just as directly. 

“It’s more for show. We’re not exactly . . . public.” 

“Your choice or his?” 

“Mostly his. I haven’t really thought about it,” Raylan admitted. He glanced at Carlos. “You two are a lot alike, y’know.” 

“If that’s the case,” Carlos said, turning into the underground parking of the federal building. “Then he’s got to be smart, sexy, competent, good at his job and a general badass.” 

“Pretty much.” 

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Carlos went on, pulling into the first slot on the left. He switched off the engine and turned to look at Raylan. “Would you worry if I was nabbed by the mob?” 

Raylan gave him a wry smile. “Point taken,” he said. Carlos unlocked the doors. Just as Raylan was about to open his door he said quietly, “I’d worry a little.”

* * * * *

Tim was comfortable. He’d never associated Kelly – Yevgeny, he mentally reminded himself – with luxury before but his friend was perfectly at ease in the private jet that they were taking to Miami. From Tim’s house they’d driven to a private hangar at the airport and left his SUV there. Now he was sitting opposite Kelly in a rather spacious seat. The stewardess had served them both bourbon but Tim hadn’t touched his.

“Y’know,” Tim began conversationally. “Given how long we’ve known each other, there’s a remarkable lack of trust in our relationship,” he said, holding up his handcuffed wrists. 

“Do we know each other, Tim?” 

The question was probably meant to be rhetorical, but Tim took it at face value. “’Course we do. You’re the guy that had my back in Afghanistan. Has that changed?” 

“Seeing as I now do wet work for the Russian mob,” Kelly replied. “Yeah, I think it has.” He took a sip of his bourbon. He sounded bitter. “At least I’m putting the skills Uncle Sam taught me to good use.” 

Tim leaned a little forward and tried again. “Are these really necessary?” he asked, holding out the handcuffs. Kelly paused, the glass halfway to his lips and Tim knew that Kelly was genuinely considering his question. But then he shook his head. 

“Sorry, Tim,” he said and the apology was sincere. “I can’t have you going all Deputy U.S. Marshal on me.” 

“Why? You plan on killing me?” 

“No.” Kelly’s voice was strained and he took a quick drink of his bourbon, polishing it off. Then he put the glass down and leaned forward as well, his demeanor changing. “You ever see _U.S. Marshals_?” he asked. “The sequel to _The Fugitive_?” He didn’t wait for Tim to answer before he continued. “It can’t hold a candle up to the original, but I always liked Tommy Lee Jones’s character and it was cool that they tried to follow him.” He paused and shook his head. “Point is, there’s a scene in _U.S. Marshals_ where the team is hazing Robert Downy, Jr. and he does this neat trick where he takes one of the marshal’s sunglasses and uses it to pick the lock of his handcuffs.” 

“I must’ve been sick the day they taught that at basic, but if you wanna give me a pair of sunglasses, I’ll give it a go,” Tim answered. 

Kelly laughed. “I’ve really missed you,” he said. 

The strain was back. Tim could read it clearly in Kelly’s expression, in the stiffness of his body and the tightness of his voice. He knew he had to play on their friendship, on the past. Part of him truly believed that he could win Kelly over. 

“Things don’t have to be like this,” Tim said, dropping his voice so that the bodyguards near them couldn’t hear. “You can still get out.” 

This time Kelly’s laugh was derisive. “And what?” he mocked. “Become a U.S. Marshal like you?” 

“No,” Tim said seriously. It was too late for that. “But you could go into Witsec.” 

Kelly stilled and he glanced at the two men seated across the aisle, before he dropped his voice even lower. “You want me to turn on my family?” he said accusingly. 

“You tried to escape from them,” Tim reminded him. 

“Running away from my family ain’t the same thing as sending them to prison,” Kelly said, clearly agitated now. “You don’t understand, Tim. I’m the prodigal son. I abandoned them. They should’ve exiled me. But when I got back from Afghanistan, my father welcomed me back. I couldn’t believe it. He was giving me a second chance. This thing with Raylan? It’s the most important assignment my father’s ever given me. I can’t let him down again.” 

Tim leaned back. “Your father sent you to kill my boyfriend.”

It was the first time Tim had ever called Raylan that and it came out easier than he expected. In fact, it felt natural. He’d said it on purpose, to see the shock register on Kelly’s face as though he’d been slapped. 

“I didn’t know that at the time,” Kelly said evenly. 

“But now that you do know . . .” Tim trailed off. “Kelly,” he began again but was cut off. 

“That’s not my name.” 

“It’s how _I_ know you.” 

“But that’s not who I am,” Kelly said, shaking his head. “Not anymore.” He stood up and looked down at his friend. “We'll be landing in about twenty minutes. My father will want to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be on hiatus for a little while. I'm stuck (plot-wise) and work is making me cry. I'm afraid that with all the stress the quality of the writing has dipped as well so I'm going to take a break and sort shit out (both in RL and story-wise). 
> 
> Rest assured, the fic is not dead. Raylan and Tim would never forgive me if I left them in this mess. Until the next update!


	5. When the Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend

Tim was blindfolded when he got off the plane. He didn’t know where he was being taken but he was aware that Kelly was with him the entire time. When they arrived at their destination, it was Kelly who helped him out of the car and then placed a hand on Tim’s left arm, to lead him to wherever they were going. Tim didn’t struggle and he wasn’t manhandled in return. They walked through a garden. Tim breathed in the smell of the dew on the grass (it had recently rained and the moisture was still in the air) and the scent of flowers. Eventually they entered a building – Tim suspected it was a house of some sort – and the language that he was greeted with was Russian. They must’ve come through the back way and passed through a kitchen. There was the chatter of women’s voices and the aroma of cooking. It reminded Tim that he was hungry. 

The walk seemed long to him, which meant that the house was fairly large. Tim tried not to think of Hollywood stereotypes that often depicted the homes of mobsters as large, isolated estates. Still, stereotypes often became stereotypes for a reason. The further in they went, the quieter everything became and the women’s voices, together with their cooking, were left behind. All the while, Kelly was a steady presence by his side and a firm grip on his arm. 

They were stopped once by a man who called out Kelly’s name, or rather his Russian name, Yevgeny. Yevgeny Anatoleivich, Tim noted. Kelly’s grip tightened on Tim’s arm and Tim halted. They both waited as the man, who was speaking in Russian, approached. Tim shouldn’t have been surprised (but he still was) when Kelly answered this stranger in the same language. He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that his friend was the son of a Russian mobster, despite the circumstances that he found himself in now. 

The man sounded angry. He was starting to raise his voice. Kelly’s reply was quick and sharp, silencing the man almost immediately. Tim didn’t understand a word of the conversation, but he did pick up a name – Oleg. Kelly had said it and the response had been silence. There was one final muttered reply in Russian before Tim heard the footsteps of the other man walking away.

They resumed their walk. They climbed up a flight of carpeted stairs. Tim could barely hear his footfalls as they went and the carpet was soft under his feet. They turned right and went down a hallway. When they stopped again, Kelly spoke in soft tones to someone. There was an equally soft reply. Then there was the click of a doorknob being turned and a hand on Tim’s back, pushing him inside a room. Tim stepped inside. He walked forward until the hand indicated that he should stop and he heard the door being closed behind them. He stood and waited. Kelly had moved in front of him. His wrists were being lifted and then the handcuffs were removed. As Tim rubbed his wrists to get the feeling back, the blindfold was taken from his eyes. He instinctively blinked to adjust to the light, which wasn’t harsh. They were in a medium-sized bedroom, lushly decorated in rich tones of red and gold. 

“You’ll have to stay here for a while,” Kelly was saying. “I’ll have somebody bring up breakfast.” He wasn’t making eye contact with Tim but was looking beyond him at the door. “Don’t try anything stupid. There are guards outside and you wouldn’t get far anyway.” 

“And what happens after breakfast?” 

“Lunch?” Kelly offered with a slight grin. 

“Will you be having lunch with me?” 

The grin faded. “Probably not,” Kelly replied seriously. He glanced at the door again. “Some major shit went down last night,” he said quietly and Tim absolutely knew that Kelly should not be telling him this. His thoughts automatically turned to Raylan and the sting operation that the cowboy had mentioned. He knew that whatever ‘shit’ had happened, Raylan was sure to be at the center of it. 

“I still gotta find out what happened. I’ll come back for you . . .” Kelly trailed off. “When I can,” he said eventually. 

“Still plan on introducing me to your old man?” 

The tense, strained smile was back. “I don’t think either of us have any choice there,” Kelly answered. He moved towards the door. Just as he was about to open it, he looked back at Tim and said quietly, “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” 

Tim couldn’t determine how much control Kelly had over a proclamation like that or how far Kelly would be willing to go to protect him from his mobster family, but he still felt a tiny bit of comfort at Kelly’s assurance. He could hear the sincerity in Kelly’s voice, whether or not the other man could live up to those words. 

After Kelly left, Tim immediately made a survey of the room. There was one window with visible black bars barring any escape, the bed, two bedside tables with ornate lamps, a large carven oak wardrobe, a round table with two chairs, a television mounted on the wall opposite the bed and the bathroom. Tim entered the bathroom and looked around. It was spotless white with gold fixtures in the sink and the shower. There were fresh towels in the rack above the toilet and little bottles of shampoo and conditioner. He shook his head. It was like being in a hotel. This room would be near the top of a list of most comfortable abducted scenarios, if such a list existed. 

Just as Tim was exiting the bathroom, the door to the room opened and a man entered carrying an amply laden breakfast tray. Tim arched an eyebrow, refraining from making a snarky comment about room service. The guy didn’t look like he’d appreciate it, dressed as he was in his sharp suit, his handgun dangling from the holster that Tim could see just inside the gray suit jacket, and his hard, unsmiling expression. The man walked over to the round table and wordlessly put down the tray, not even bothering to acknowledge Tim. _So the service left something to be desired_ , Tim thought as the man left, locking the door behind him.

Tim’s stomach rumbled at the smell of the food, reminding him how hungry he actually was. He didn’t think the Russian mob would be onboard with poisoning him, at least not until Kelly’s mob boss dad had met him. So, Tim settled down at the table and began to eat, the possible escape plan scenarios running through his mind.

* * * * *

Hours later Tim was bored as hell. Naturally, Kelly had confiscated his phone right away and the only technology at his disposal was the widescreen TV. He tuned into the news after breakfast in the hope of figuring out the ‘major shit’ that Kelly had referred to before he’d left. Major shit had a tendency to make the headlines and the Miami news did not disappoint. The big local story was the massive gunfight that had occurred at the docks the night before. Details were hard to come by since the feds in charge weren’t being very forthcoming. The F.B.I. had issued an official statement but for some reason Tim didn’t get the impression that they were in charge. A lot of suits and uniformed men were milling about the docks behind the on-site reporter and when Tim caught sight of a familiar Stetson in the far right-hand corner of the screen, Tim leaned forward in his seat. He’d recognize that Stetson anywhere. At the edge of the screen, he could just see Raylan leading another man away, accompanied by another dark-haired man. Tim assumed that the dark-haired man was another federal agent. He and Raylan appeared to be deep in conversation.

Tim sat back when the news report changed stories. He somehow felt better just briefly seeing Raylan at the docks and knowing that he was already involved in the case. Raylan was sharp as hell and even though his life was likely still in danger (when was it not?) Tim had confidence that Raylan would figure shit out because that’s what the cowboy did. He didn’t know whether the hit on Raylan had been called off, but he figured he’d find out soon enough courtesy of his meeting with Kelly’s – scratch that – Yevgeny’s mob boss father. 

Late in the afternoon, the same bodyguard that had brought his meals entered, this time carrying three sets of suits protected by their zipped-up coverings and a pair of black dress shoes. He laid the suits out on the bed and placed the shoes at the foot of the bed. 

“You will be having dinner with Mr. Petrenko at 6:30pm,” the bodyguard informed him in slightly accented English. “Yevgeny has provided you with the appropriate attire,” he added, gesturing to the suits. 

“Thanks, Alfred,” Tim said with a straight face. 

‘Alfred’ didn’t react and Tim wondered if the other man understood the reference. After a brief staring competition and a grunt of disdain, the bodyguard-turned-butler took his leave. With nothing else to do, Tim unzipped the plastic coverings and inspected the suits. They were all finely tailored in dark colors and had accompanying ties. He suspected that Kelly had pulled these straight from his own wardrobe since he and Tim were roughly the same size. Playing dress-up was not something Tim enjoyed, much less playing dress-up for the Russian mob, but as with everything else that had happened since Kelly had dropped by for a visit, he would have to play along. 

At 6:20pm sharp (Tim could at least appreciate the military precision), Alfred was back as his escort. There was no need for a blindfold this time and Tim took in every detail of his surroundings. Kelly met him at the foot of the wide staircase, also well dressed in a sharp suit and Tim got the uncomfortable sensation that in another lifetime, Kelly might’ve been his date to the prom. Kelly said something in Russian to Alfred (Tim had dubbed him ‘Alfred’ at this point) and the big bodyguard left them alone. 

“You wear that penguin suit well,” Kelly offered in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

“Kelly –” Tim began warningly, but was cut off straightaway. 

“You really should get used to calling me ‘Yevgeny.’” 

“That’s not how I know you, remember?” 

“Then I guess you’re getting to know a new side of me.” 

“I think I like your other side better.” 

Kelly sighed a deep sigh of resignation. “They treat you okay?” he asked, gesturing that Tim should walk beside him. 

“The company was shit but the room service is fantastic,” Tim replied, falling into step beside the other man. “Not much in the way of recreation either.” 

“We have satellite TV,” Kelly informed him. 

“Local news was the only thing that interested me,” Tim shot back. 

As they neared what Tim assumed to be the dining room, he took note of every armed guard that was stationed along the way. Even by the standards of the Russian mafia, the security seemed to be on high alert and he could only guess that it had something to do with the mess at the docks. Just outside the giant double doors, Kelly stopped him. 

“Tim,” he said seriously. “My father, he’s . . . he’s not someone you fuck with.” 

“You askin’ me to be on my best behavior?”

“Yes,” Kelly replied, without any trace of irony. “Just this once.” And when Tim looked like he was about to say something smart, he added, “If you don’t care about yourself, then do it for Raylan.” 

“What does Raylan have to do with this?” Tim asked, even though he knew full well that Raylan had _everything_ to do with his current predicament.

“My father thinks your cowboy could be useful,” Kelly admitted. “And you’d be the key to getting him to do what he wants.” 

Tim almost laughed in Kelly’s face but he somehow managed to rein in that impulse. Instead, he leaned in and dropped his voice so that the nearby security couldn’t hear him. 

“I know your father’s not someone you fuck with,” Tim said. “But neither is Raylan. And if you’re foolish enough to use me as leverage against him, then that’s just an excuse for Raylan to take down your whole operation. And believe me, _Yevgeny_ , that’s exactly what Raylan is going to do.” 

Kelly’s voice was hard when he spoke again. “Play _nice_ , Tim. Or Raylan will be looking at the wrong end of a bullet.” 

“You’re being delusional if you think that’s not how this whole thing is gonna play out.”

Kelly looked like he was about to say more, but the wide double doors of the dining room were pulled back and their conversation was brought to a premature close. They entered the room where a long black table marked by gold accents dominated the room. At the far end sat its sole occupant, a fit man of medium build with pepper-salted hair. Kelly greeted his father in Russian before introducing Tim. 

“Deputy Gutterson,” Anatoly Petrenko said, motioning for Tim to take the seat on his left. An attendant was already pulling the heavy chair out for Tim while another attendant was doing the same for Kelly who was seated opposite him and on his father’s right. “So pleased you could join us for dinner.” 

“Thank you for having me,” Tim replied, but there was no mistaking the sarcasm that laced his tone. He avoided Kelly’s gaze since he could already feel his friend metaphorically shooting daggers at him. 

For his part, Anatoly Petrenko chose to ignore Tim’s borderline insubordinate tone and continued smoothly, “I trust you’ve been treated well?” 

“Very well. Thank you, sir,” Tim added, and this time he was being completely sincere. As far as kidnappings went, he had been treated _extremely well_. Anatoly Petrenko gave him a faint nod in acknowledgement, but Tim didn’t miss the glint in the older man’s eyes.

“My son tells me that you served together in Afghanistan,” the mob boss said in an amiable, conversational tone. 

“Two tours,” Tim confirmed. 

“He also says that you’re very good at what you do.” 

Tim wasn’t sure if Anatoly was simply referring to his skills as a sniper or his general occupation as a federal agent so he settled for saying, “Uncle Sam taught us both some valuable skills.” 

This comment got a chuckle from Anatoly Petrenko and he looked at Tim approvingly. “Yes,” he agreed, obviously amused. “The irony does not escape me that ‘Uncle Sam’ has provided my son with the skills that he refused to learn from me.” 

Tim finally hazarded a look in Kelly’s direction. He had never seen his friend with his body language so closed off. Tim understood right away that he would be doing all the heavy lifting during this particular meal. 

“Deputy,” Anatoly said to get his attention. “May I call you, Tim?” 

Tim made a non-committal gesture. Really, Anatoly Petrenko could call him whatever he wanted, but the mob boss was making a surprising effort with the social niceties. Tim hadn’t expected that based on the stories Kelly had once told him about his father. (Of course, Tim also hadn’t known at the time that Kelly’s father was a major figure in the criminal underworld.) Perhaps this was Anatoly Petrenko being ‘businesslike’ and really, that thought should’ve worried Tim more than it did. 

Anatoly was pouring an iced brown colored drink that looked similar to iced tea from a pitcher. He passed one glass to his son and the other to Tim. 

“Try this,” the mobster said, offering Tim the glass. “A flavor from the homeland. It will refresh you. Florida is so very hot.” 

“Thought vodka was your poison of choice,” Tim commented, accepting the glass. 

Anatoly laughed again. “Out of all the stereotypes of my country, that one is the most accurate,” he conceded. “We’ll have vodka later. But first, try the drink.” 

Tim took a sip, followed by a longer one. Anatoly was right. The drink was refreshing. The mobster was watching him keenly, waiting for his verdict. 

“It’s good,” Tim said, when he put his glass down. “Tastes a little like cider, but a bit sweeter than what I’m used to.” 

“Cider,” Anatoly repeated thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose that would be a fair comparison. This is _kvas_ ,” he explained. “The perfect drink for hot summer days back in Russia. Of course, here in Florida it is the perfect drink year round. _Kvas_ has very humble origins. Back home it was once called the drink of the proletariat and it is made from old rye bread. Farmers used to drink it at the end of a long work day to quench their thirst.” 

Anatoly paused and Tim wondered if this was the end of his Russian cultural history lesson. He was partially correct. 

“You see, Tim,” Anatoly continued in that same conversational manner. “I like to keep in touch with my roots, a lesson that I hope I have imparted to my son. I realize that I am hardly what you would call one of the ‘proletariat’ now,” he said, gesturing to their lavishly furnished surroundings. “But I used to be. When my grandfather came to this country, he was but a simple fisherman. And now my family owns the second largest shipping fleet in the North Atlantic.” 

“As well as being the cornerstone of organized crime along the East Coast,” Tim added. He could feel Kelly tense at his words, but Anatoly took them in stride. 

“Quite an achievement,” Anatoly agreed with some pride. “For the grandson of a fisherman.” 

Tim couldn’t argue with that and he held up his glass of _kvas_ in a toast, which Anatoly reciprocated. 

“This has all been very interesting, Mr. Petrenko,” Tim said after the toast. “But I don’t think you brought me here to talk about your family’s past.” 

Anatoly Petrenko nodded, settling more comfortably in his chair. He motioned for the attendants to begin serving the meal. The first course was a hearty soup, which Tim thought would be some type of borsch, but instead was a kind of fish soup that was served with an accompanying side dish of dumplings. Judging by the amount of food that was placed in front of him, Tim suspected that it was going to be a very long and filling meal. 

When the attendants had quietly departed until they would be called upon for the next course, Tim could instantly feel the shift in the room. Now that it was just the three of them, Anatoly Petrenko meant business. 

“No, Deputy Gutterson,” Anatoly said, the use of Tim’s formal title not escaping the former Ranger’s notice. “It is not my family’s past that concerns me now, but our future.” Anatoly briefly glanced at his son before addressing Tim again. “What has Yevgeny told you about his business in Lexington?” 

“That you sent him there to assassinate my colleague,” Tim replied evenly. 

“Very true,” Anatoly said with a nod. “But now I see it as fortuitous timing that your colleague was called to Miami and that the contract on him was not completed. Call it the hand of fate, if you will.” 

Tim wasn’t the fatalistic sort, but he kept that knowledge to himself. Across the table, Kelly’s stone-faced countenance had morphed into a kind of passive indifference but Tim knew better. Kelly was _invested_ in this conversation. Nowhere near as much as Tim was, but it still meant something to the other man. 

“The contract placed on your colleague was originally part of a deal I made with Gio Reyes to evenly divide this territory between our families, rather than go to war,” Anatoly explained. “It is a deal that I have since come to regret.” He paused. “Gio Reyes is not a trustworthy man. It was always his intention to declare war on my people.”

“Based on that news report I saw earlier,” Tim butted in. “I’d say he’s taken out a significant portion of your organization.” 

This time Anatoly didn’t nod in agreement, didn’t even acknowledge Tim’s interruption. “Gio Reyes will pay for what he has done,” Anatoly said grimly, almost as if he were speaking to himself, but then his steely gaze landed on Tim. “Your _colleague_ ,” he said, his emphasis on the word ‘colleague’ making Tim inwardly flinch. It heavily implied that Anatoly Petrenko knew that he and Raylan were more than just co-workers or even friends. Tim supposed he had Kelly to thank for the lack of discretion. 

“Deputy Givens has no love for Gio Reyes. I believe he and I share the same goals.” 

“Raylan has no love for Gio Reyes,” Tim confirmed. “But that don’t mean he’s going to get in bed with the Russian mob. Besides, I don’t know what it is you think one man can do.” 

Anatoly Petrenko’s laugh was low and knowing. “I have read the file on Deputy Givens,” he said. “And I believe there is _much_ he could do when properly motivated. He is like a force of nature. Nicky Augustine would have firsthand experience of what I mean.”

Tim didn’t give anything away but he was unsettled that Anatoly Petrenko had name-dropped Theo Tonin’s former second-in-command so easily. It meant that the rumors surrounding Nicky Augustine’s demise had been making the underworld rounds and that Petrenko had done his homework. 

“Your colleague is very concerned about you,” Anatoly went on. “Judging by the number of messages he has left on your phone.” He placed said phone on the table and pushed it towards Tim. “You should give him a call. Put his mind at ease.” 

Tim picked up his phone. There were twenty missed calls. He suspected that most of those belonged to Raylan, but a few had to come from Art as well. He hadn’t checked in at the office so the folks in Lexington must’ve known that something was wrong. He scrolled to Raylan’s name and pressed ‘Call.’

* * * * *

When the call came in Raylan was still in the Marshals office sitting slightly slumped in the wide conference room that had been converted into the temporary HQ for the inter-agency task force. Dan was leading a strategy session that involved all the departments. It was the last meeting before the teams broke for the night. All in all it had been a productive day. They’d frozen nearly all of the Petrenko family’s legitimate assets. They’d obtained a number of search warrants, and had executed at least half of them, uncovering more evidence with which to convict the Petrenkos and their allies. While the interrogations hadn’t been all that successful – Petrenko’s men were loyal – they’d still made a number of major arrests. For his part, Raylan hadn’t been all that involved in the Petrenko dealings. He’d turned his attention back to Gio Reyes and was looking for any leads in tracking down Viktor Petrovich. Carlos, as well, was more interested in the missing drugs and knew that Gio and Viktor would be the key to tracing that shipment.

Gio Reyes and Viktor Petrovich is what had occupied Raylan's time when he hadn’t been distracted by Tim’s disappearance. Art had checked in with him later that morning and the news hadn’t been good. Tim was a no-show at work, hadn’t left any messages, and still couldn’t be reached nor tracked via his mobile. Art had put a BOLO out on his SUV, but so far there hadn’t been any hits. Raylan knew that Art and Rachel – hell, the entire Lexington office – was now tracking Tim’s last whereabouts. 

When Tim’s name flashed across the screen of his mobile, Raylan instantly stood up and excused himself from the conference table. Dan gave him a cursory glance but didn’t interrupt his instructions. Raylan could also feel Carlos’s gaze tracking him as he exited the room. 

“Givens,” Raylan said, as he turned the corner and pushed open the door that led to the access stairwell. The door shut softly behind him. He didn’t expect Tim to answer, but to his immense relief, Tim did. 

“Hey.” 

“You all right?” 

“Pretty good, considering.” 

“Considerin’ that you’ve been abducted by the Russian mob?” 

“Knew there was more to you than those Hollywood good looks.” 

Raylan smiled in spite of himself. The banter was familiar and comforting, despite how dire Tim’s situation actually was. 

“Anatoly Petrenko would like a word.” 

Raylan’s smile vanished. 

“Put him on.” 

There was a brief silence as Tim passed his phone to Petrenko. 

“Deputy Givens,” came a deep voice. 

“Mr. Petrenko,” Raylan answered. 

“As you can tell, your friend is quite well. In fact, we’re having a very pleasant meal.” 

“Accompanied by stimulating conversation, no doubt.” 

“It has been agreeable. So agreeable that I thought you should join us.” 

“I’m afraid I’m rather busy at the moment. Looking into your family as a matter of fact.” 

“I would have thought that you’d be more interested in Gio Reyes.” 

“Oh, I’ve got my eye on him too.” 

“As I was mentioning to your colleague, Marshal, I feel that you and I have similar goals when it comes to Gio Reyes.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Gio has reneged on an agreement with me.” 

“Reneged?” Raylan repeated, the laughter evident in his voice. “Is that what you call it when he sells you out to the feds and cripples your organization?” 

Raylan’s humor was met with silence and so the cowboy continued. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to get out of this conversation, Mr. Petrenko, but I don’t look too favorably on men who try to kill me.” 

“Oh? You heard about that?” 

“I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I hadn’t.” 

“Unfortunate business.” Anatoly Petrenko sounded like the contract on Raylan had been a simple misunderstanding. “And I do hear Deputy Givens that you are _very good_ at your job. Very _dedicated_. Above and beyond the call of duty, some would say. Which is why I have an offer for you. You could think of it as a trade: Deputy Gutterson in exchange for your services.” 

There was a long pause before Raylan spoke again. 

“Mr. Petrenko, let me explain to you what’s gonna happen here. This conversation? It’s the type of conversation best had in person. So you and I are going to meet on neutral ground. That way I don’t have to explain to my friends what I’m doing walking into a known location of the Russian mob. Plus, you gotta know we have you under surveillance. As for my friend, Deputy Gutterson, he’s going to be at that meeting too, because it’s one thing to hear his voice and another to see him for myself. Does this sound reasonable?” 

“Quite reasonable, Marshal,” Anatoly agreed. “But I’m afraid, given my current circumstances, that a meeting would be inadvisable. I’m sure _you_ understand that. But, before your object, let me say that I will send my son in my place. He has complete authority to speak on my behalf. Would that be acceptable, Marshal?” 

“It would.”

“Now where would you suggest as ‘neutral ground’?” 

Raylan gave the name of a diner that he and Winona used to go to and set the meeting for breakfast the following morning. By the time he hung up and pulled open the stairwell door, he found Carlos casually leaning against the wall just outside, waiting for him with a file tucked under his arm. 

“Important call?” he inquired mildly. 

“Most important one I’ve had all day.” 

Carlos fixed him with a hard look. “You gonna tell Dan?” 

Raylan met Carlos’s gaze evenly and said, “Playin’ this one close to the vest.” He held up his hands in supplication before Carlos could object. “Just gonna have breakfast tomorrow. Hear what Anatoly Petrenko has to say and go from there.” 

Carlos sighed and Raylan could all but hear the disapproval in it. “Figured you’d say something like that,” he admitted. “Which is why I thought you’d be interested in this.” He passed the folder he’d been holding to Raylan. “Just came in.” 

Raylan opened the file and sucked in a sharp breath because he found himself looking at a familiar face dressed in a military uniform.

“That’s Anatoly Petrenko’s prodigal son,” Carlos explained. “Took awhile to track him down since he cut ties with the family a couple of years ago. Joined the Rangers and is a bona fide American hero. But the family’s managed to rope him back in. He even legally changed his name to –”

“Kelly Davis,” Raylan supplied, beginning to flip through the file. 

“You know him?” Carlos questioned in surprise. 

“We’ve met,” Raylan answered grimly. “And it appears I’ll be having breakfast with him tomorrow.”


	6. A Devil's Trade

Raylan knew it was a long shot, but after his conversation with Anatoly Petrenko he gave Tim’s number to the tech specialists in the building to see if they could run a trace. Art had been doing the same thing in Lexington since that morning, but Raylan knew for sure now that Tim was in Miami. 

“Sorry,” the tech guy said. “Phone’s been turned off. But I’ll keep a line on it in case it’s activated again.” 

“Thanks anyway,” Raylan said, but when he turned away, he shook his head at Carlos’s inquiring look. “Phone’s a dead end,” Raylan told him. “Anatoly Petrenko won’t be careless enough to use it again. He kept it just to contact me and now the job’s done.” 

“You got a plan for tomorrow?” Carlos asked mildly as they entered the underground parking. 

“Did you ever have any doubt?” Raylan asked in return. 

Carlos merely smiled.

* * * * *

The Pink Flamingo was a small diner with a retro feel to its comfy red booths, its black and white tiled floor and the old-style jukebox at the end of the room. When Raylan entered at 8:00am, it was noticeably busier than it should have been at that hour and not because it was filled with locals. Raylan clocked the two gun thugs sitting at the first booth by the entrance on the left, two more men at the counter on his right. There were another two covering the other exit at the end of the diner, sitting at a table beside the jukebox. Tim and Kelly were sitting in the center in one of the booths that lined the left side of diner.

Raylan strode in. The men on his left and right let him pass, but the man sitting closest to Kelly (Raylan took him to be Kelly’s personal bodyguard) was the one who blocked his path. He motioned with his hands for Raylan to lift up his arms. Raylan complied, allowing himself to be frisked. The bodyguard took away his side arm before letting him join Kelly and Tim. While he was being frisked, Raylan kept a discreet eye on Tim, who was sitting facing him. His partner looked remarkably relaxed, with one arm casually stretched along the back of the booth as he perused the menu. He showed no signs of physical abuse, making Raylan believe that Anatoly Petrenko was a man of his word. Tim did indeed look ‘quite well.’

When he slid into the booth beside Tim, the latter’s opening line was, “I was gonna order for you, but it seemed a little too early for spicy fried chicken.” He passed Raylan the menu with a sardonic smile. 

Raylan accepted the menu but didn’t look at it. “The Crab Shack,” he told Tim, keeping his gaze focused on the other man. “They have the best spicy fried chicken I’ve ever had. We’ll go there before we head back to Lexington.” 

Tim’s sardonic smile softened into something more genuine. Raylan was treating this just like any other breakfast meeting, as though their lives weren’t in immediate danger, as though they could simply walk out of this diner when they were finished, and head to work like they normally would. 

“Think I’ll have a peach waffle,” Raylan said, glancing at the menu. “You going for pancakes?” 

“Blueberry,” Tim answered, sounding almost bored. 

“How about you, Kelly?” Raylan asked, finally looking up and acknowledging their companion. 

Kelly shook his head. “Coffee’s fine,” he answered, tapping the white cup of coffee that he’d been drinking. 

Raylan nodded and waved the waitress over. He didn’t miss how her eyes darted nervously from the suited bodyguards to the three of them seated at the booth. 

“What’ll it be?” she asked, her voice steadier than her appearance would suggest.

“One peach waffle,” Raylan said. 

“You sure you’re not gonna have that à la mode?” Tim asked. 

Raylan gave him a sideways look but let the jab slide. He was more relieved that Tim’s acerbic humor was intact. That, more than anything else, assured him that Tim was himself. 

“Blueberry pancakes for him,” Raylan said instead to the waitress. “And coffee, please.” 

She scribbled down their order and then nodded at Raylan, holding his gaze longer than necessary. Raylan realized that she must’ve seen his silver star when he’d been frisked. Raylan returned the nod, trying to convey through his eyes that everything was going to be all right. 

When the waitress left, Kelly addressed him. “You don’t seem surprised to see me,” he commented. 

“Just like the Russian mob, we feds do our homework too,” Raylan answered smoothly. “ _Yevgeny_.” 

Kelly smiled, but there was nothing kind about it. “Knew you were sharp,” he replied. “You have to be to keep up with this one,” he added, gesturing to Tim.

The waitress came back with the coffee, poured Raylan a cup and then poured Kelly a refill. 

“What’s your father’s offer?” Raylan asked, forgoing the niceties when they were alone again. 

“Ain’t that complicated,” Kelly said. “By now you know that Gio Reyes fucked my family over. We just want to make sure he gets what he deserves.” 

“And by that, you mean . . .” 

“When you catch him – because there’s no doubt in our mind, you’re going to do that – we want you to hand him over to us.” 

Raylan leaned back. “With your family’s connections, figured you’d be able to get to Gio anywhere,” he commented. “Federal penitentiary or not.” 

“That’s probably true,” Kelly conceded. “But having you hand him over to us saves us a lot of time and trouble. Justice should be delivered swiftly. Don’t you agree, Marshal?”

“Would this be justice or vengeance?”

Kelly shrugged. “Does it matter? From what my father tells me, Marshal, you walk a fine line between justice and vengeance. Besides, we figure we’re doin’ you a favor. Gio’s got a long memory and he ain’t gonna forgive your trespasses against him. You hand him over to us and we’ll take care of him for good.” 

“I gotta tell you, Yevgeny,” Raylan responded. “So far, this ain’t much of a negotiation. The way I figure it, I’m gonna get Gio anyway – with or without your family’s intervention. The way trades work is you have to give me something in return and – present company excluded – you don’t have anything on the table.” 

“Are you saying that the present company ain’t enough of an incentive?” Kelly asked, a little incredulously. 

“Are _you_ saying that you’re gonna allow the present company to come to any harm?”

While Tim hated being talked about like he was cargo that had no say in the matter, he also sort of loved Raylan for calling Kelly out so blatantly. It was a dangerous play that instinctively made Tim tense, but it also meant that he and Raylan were intuitively on the same page, as they generally were when it came to their professional lives. Raylan understood that Kelly was torn between loyalty to his family whom he’d tried to escape, and his history and feelings for Tim. Maybe Raylan didn’t know how deep those feelings ran (Tim had only recently found out himself), but he was making his opinion on the matter clear. It was the exact same tactic Tim had decided on the moment he found himself on a private jet to Miami. For his part, Kelly’s cool façade briefly cracked under Raylan’s pointed question, but the cowboy didn’t give him any time to reply. 

“I can think of something else you could offer me,” Raylan smoothly went on. “Something that would be worth my time.” 

Fortunately, Kelly was able to recover his composure when the waitress reappeared with their food. She served Raylan his waffle and Tim the blueberry pancakes, before silently leaving. Tim immediately poured the maple syrup before passing it onto Raylan. God, they’d turned into such an old married couple when it came to domesticity. Who would’ve freakin’ guessed? Kelly watched their exchange silently. By the time Tim had taken his first bite of the pancakes, Kelly spoke again. 

“What do you have in mind, Marshal?” 

“Viktor Petrovich.” 

The name was greeted with silence.

“I’m fairly certain that the Russian mob has a memory as long as the cartel,” Raylan continued. “And since we’re talkin’ sins and trespasses, the one Viktor committed against your father must put him damn near the top of your kill list, probably right next to Gio Reyes. No one likes a Judas.” 

“Go on,” Kelly said evenly. 

“Viktor’s gone to ground,” Raylan said. “And he’s the one I want.” 

Kelly nodded. He took a sip of his coffee as he considered Raylan’s words. “Maybe we could help you with that,” he said at last. 

“Maybe?” 

“Viktor was pretty high up in our organization,” Kelly admitted. “He reported directly to Oleg. They’re close.” 

“Guess Oleg’s feeling the sting of betrayal too then,” Tim intervened. He remembered that name from when he’d first arrived in Miami and he’d been escorted to his room.

“We’d let you talk to Oleg,” Kelly went on. “Find out what he knows about Viktor, except . . .” Here he paused dramatically. “You already have him in custody.” 

“Oleg’s loyal,” Raylan commented, finally slicing his waffle. 

“That was never in doubt.” 

“Then maybe there’s some way you could persuade him to share some information with me.” 

Kelly considered this request as Raylan ate. Finally, he pulled a ring off his finger and passed it across the table. Raylan picked up the ring, studying the red and gold insignia. 

“Show that to Oleg,” Kelly explained. “He’ll answer any questions you have for him.” He paused and watched Raylan carefully. “Are we done here, Marshal? Gio Reyes in exchange for Viktor Petrovich sound about fair? In the meantime, Tim will remain my family’s guest.” 

“Not quite,” Raylan said, putting his fork and knife down. “This is the part where you leave us so I can have a word with my partner.”

Kelly laughed, thinking it was a joke until he realized that Raylan was deathly serious. “You know I can’t do that Marshal,” he said, no longer amused. 

“Sure you can,” Raylan said amiably. “Just stand up and use the washroom. Or smoke a cigarette if that’s your thing. Be sure to take your bodyguard with you.” 

Kelly looked completely dumbfounded and he glanced at Tim as though asking for help. 

“Kelly,” Tim said, leaning forward. “It’s called building goodwill. It’ll just be a few minutes.” 

When Kelly didn’t look like he was going to relent, Raylan changed tactics. “This private conversation is a deal-breaker, _Yevgeny_.” Then he softened his voice. “Assuming your men are loyal to you, your father don’t even have to know about it.”

Kelly’s gaze flicked from Raylan to Tim and then back to Raylan again, carefully assessing the situation. It felt like a while before he let out a long exhale. “Five minutes,” he said under his breath as he stood up. He motioned for his bodyguard, the one Tim had dubbed ‘Alfred’ to follow him. The rest of Petrenko’s men around the diner remained where they were, but since they were watching the perimeter, they were far enough away that Tim and Raylan had a semblance of privacy. 

As soon as Kelly left, Raylan shifted sideways and placed his arm along the back of the booth. 

“You really gonna hand Gio Reyes over to the Russians?” Tim asked, eating the last of his blueberry pancakes. 

“Gio is not my number one priority right now,” Raylan replied seriously. 

Tim’s lips quirked upwards as he put his fork down. “That’s sweet, Raylan but –” 

“Tim,” Raylan said, the gravity of his tone instantly silencing the other man. 

The heavy silence stretched between them before Tim broke it.

“What’s the plan, cowboy? Are you gonna shoot your way out of here? Because unless you have back up . . .” he trailed off. He remembered how Raylan had been disarmed. 

“That wouldn’t be my first choice,” Raylan admitted. “And back up’s outside.” 

Tim, who was sitting next to the window, immediately did a quick scan. He didn’t think Raylan would bring the feds in on this yet, but maybe a close friend, someone he could trust. He wondered if it was the dark-haired agent he’d briefly seen Raylan conversing with on the news. 

“Listen,” Tim said, looking back at Raylan. “You do what you have to to get Petrovich. I’m all right.” 

“They’re the Russian mob,” Raylan countered. “They could kill you in a heartbeat.” 

“You also implied pretty heavily that Kelly wouldn’t let that happen.” 

“That was a long shot. Said it to get under his skin.” 

“Yeah, well it was also an accurate read.”

“You’re gonna put that much faith in your past history with the guy?” 

“Seeing as he practically admitted to being in love with me? Yeah, I am.” 

Raylan looked taken aback for a moment, before his expression morphed into one of amusement mingled with disbelief. “This ain’t a Hitchcock movie, Tim,” he said. 

“You’re damn right it ain’t,” Tim retorted. “’Cos I’m no Ingrid Bergman.” 

There was another silent stand off between them, but Tim could feel Raylan’s resolve slowly crumbling. They didn’t have any good options facing them at the moment, and even with Raylan’s mysterious back up, shooting their way out of the diner was never really going to be feasible. Raylan had arranged this meeting precisely so he could check up on Tim and now that he’d done that he had to trust that Tim was going to be all right, at least for a while longer.

Their stand off was broken by Kelly’s reappearance. “Time’s up, lovebirds,” he said, a bit too snidely. He tossed a cheap flip-top onto the table. It was a burner phone. “In case you need to contact me,” he told Raylan. “We know how to reach you.” 

Raylan picked up the phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Then he slid out of the booth to allow Tim to get out. Tim did so, discreetly grabbing hold of Raylan’s wrist as he passed by him and giving it a gentle squeeze. The last look they shared was one of understanding. 

Kelly’s bodyguard returned Raylan’s gun to him and Raylan watched as Tim and Kelly left the diner, flanked and trailed by the security. Seven guys. Raylan thought it was overkill, but it also gave him a good idea of Anatoly Petrenko’s level of paranoia. He remained at the booth, waving the waitress over for a refill of his coffee. She came over with the coffee pot, looking more relaxed now that the gun thugs were gone. She refilled his cup and then cleared the plates. A few minutes after that, Raylan wasn’t the least bit surprised when another person slid into the booth opposite him. 

“You get it done?” he asked.

“Put it on the lead vehicle,” Carlos replied. “Didn’t think Petrenko was so fucking paranoid,” he said, referring to the heightened security. 

“Probably a recent development,” Raylan answered dryly. 

“Dan’s gonna find out about this,” Carlos warned, scanning the menu. “Sooner, rather than later,” he added. “Coursing the request through the D.E.A. isn’t gonna buy you much time.” 

“We’re not gonna withhold the information from the investigation,” Raylan replied. “The tracker will do its job and I’ll give Dan a heads up. There’s no guarantee that Anatoly Petrenko’s staying at the same place they’re holding Tim.” 

“Seeing as your boyfriend is BFFs with the son of the head of the Russian mob, yeah, I’d say there’s a damn good chance of that,” Carlos countered. “Petrenko’s not staying in any of his known residences,” he went on. “This will give us a lead on his location since it’s a miracle that he hasn’t fled the country.” The look he gave Raylan was absolutely blazing in its silent accusation. 

“I will tell Dan,” Raylan repeated with more emphasis.

This second reassurance seemed to appease Carlos since he sat back and motioned to the waitress that he was ready to order. 

“What’s next?” Carlos asked. 

“You’re going to have breakfast,” Raylan answered, as the waitress materialized at their table with her every ready pot of coffee and poured Carlos his share. 

“You ready to order?” she asked. 

“One bacon, eggs and hash browns,” Carlos replied. “And orange juice.” 

“How would you like your eggs?” 

“Sunny side up.” 

She turned to Raylan. “Anything else for you?” she asked. 

“A vanilla cone.” 

Carlos raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. 

“It’s been that kind of morning,’” Raylan half-grumbled when the waitress left them, as though he felt the need to justify having ice cream before 9:00am. 

“I never thought of you as a kale salad kind of guy,” Carlos pointed out. “You were saying,” he said, indicating that Raylan should carry on with his half-baked plan.

“After breakfast, we’re gonna have a chat with Oleg Kossinski.” 

“Good luck with that.” 

“Don’t need luck,” Raylan said, bringing out the ring Kelly had given him and handing it to Carlos. “Think of it as a get-out-of-jail-free card, courtesy of the Russian mob.” 

“Sounds more like Double Jeopardy,” Carlos replied dryly. 

Raylan smiled and let Carlos’s dry humor wash over him. “According to Yevgeny Petrenko, Oleg is our best bet of tracking down Viktor Petrovich.” 

“Fuck,” Carlos muttered. “It’s gonna be a long day.”

* * * * *

The interrogation room was like all the other interrogation rooms that Oleg Kossinski had been in before. It had drab walls, a security camera tucked away in one corner and a one-way mirror for observation. Oleg sat with his wrists handcuffed in front of him on top of the table and waited. Cops were always so predictable. And boring. He thought they’d be tired of this song and dance by now, but apparently they were gluttons for punishment too. They had to know by now that there was nothing they could say or do to make him _talk_.

The cowboy that opened the door caught Oleg’s interest. This was . . . different. What was even more interesting was how the cowboy walked right up to the camera and switched it off. Oleg could tell when the small, bright red light disappeared and the camera stilled. He kept his gaze on the cowboy as the other man took the seat opposite him, removing the Stetson and placing it on the table as he did so. Oleg studied his features. He didn’t recognize him, couldn’t recall whether he’d been at the docks that night. He was obviously a fed, but Oleg wasn’t sure which branch. Probably not F.B.I., the dickiest of all the dicks. Oleg watched with interest as the stranger took out an object from an inner jacket pocket and placed in on the table between them. 

The Russian mobster’s gaze sharpened in focus as he picked up the familiar ring and examined it. It bore the Petrenko family seal. Only two men possessed a ring like that and as Oleg scanned the underside of the ring, he read Yevgeny’s name spelled in Russian lettering. Oleg understood what it meant, and why the fed had turned the camera off. He put the ring down on the table and when he looked up at the cowboy, his demeanor had changed. He nodded once and said, “What can I do for you?”

* * * * *

If only all interrogations could go that smoothly, Raylan thought as he exited the room. Carlos exited the observation room simultaneously. He’d heard everything that had been said between Oleg and Raylan.

“Raylan.” 

The sharp voice of Dan Grant caught Raylan’s attention and just as Raylan turned to answer him, his mobile began to ring. He pulled out his phone and read Art’s name on the screen and internally sighed. This was not a case of the boss saving him from the boss. He gave Dan an apologetic look as he answered his phone. 

“Art.” 

Dan looked exasperated, but not deterred. He stepped forward and said in a low voice, “In my office when you’re done.” 

That sounded a little ominous, and Carlos must have thought that as well since he gave Raylan a tap on the back as he passed him.

Raylan had a fairly good idea of why Art was calling. He was going to give Raylan an update on the search for Tim and then find out if Raylan had any leads of his own. Raylan could predict how that conversation was going to go and he was right since Art nearly made him deaf with all the yelling. He also had to assume that Art and Dan had been in touch. At the moment, he felt like the problem child sneaking around behind his parents’ backs. Or maybe he was that kid that got sent to the Principal’s office when he found himself standing outside Dan Grant’s door. 

“Close it,” the Chief Deputy said darkly when Raylan entered the room. 

Raylan did so and then settled in one of the seats in front of Dan’s desk. The man’s desk was an absolute mess. Dan was always behind in paperwork, but the amount of clutter on his desk was bordering on ridiculous. Dan was holding up a sheet of paper. 

“The only thing I don’t want to hear from you,” the Chief Deputy said, “is that you’re working with Anatoly Petrenko.” 

Raylan took a bit too long to reply. 

“Godammit, Raylan!”

“Working with him and having a conversation are two different things,” Raylan began. 

“So, you’ve had contact with him.” 

“He gave me a call last night . . . ” 

Dan looked pissed. 

“ . . . and I had breakfast with his son this morning.” 

At this bit of news, Dan actually shut his eyes. “Do you know what this is?” he eventually asked, waving the sheet he was holding.

“My guess is that it’s a courtesy copy of a trace run by the D.E.A.” Raylan paused. “They’re efficient.” 

“Do you know where this trace leads?” 

“Not precisely,” Raylan admitted. “But I’m hoping it’s to Anatoly Petrenko’s latest hideout.” He leaned forward. “Dan, I need you to hear me out.” 

The Chief Deputy sat back, looking a little calmer than when Raylan had entered the room. The news on the trace was at least _good_ news. Maybe Raylan hadn’t dumped as much shit on the investigation as he thought. ‘Course there was a reason Dan Grant was rarely so optimistic when it came to Raylan Givens.

“I know your first instinct is to raid the place, especially if it turns out that Petrenko is really playing house. But I’m askin’ you to hold off for a little while.” 

“Because?” Dan prompted. 

“Because there’s a lead I need to follow up on . . . _and_ Petrenko’s got one of our men.” 

“Is this your partner back in Lexington?” Dan asked sharply.

Raylan nodded. “I saw ‘im awhile ago at that breakfast meeting. Tim’s not in any immediate danger.” He ignored the blatantly incredulous look that Dan gave him. “It’s complicated,” he said, by way of explanation. 

“Raylan,” Dan said sternly. “The fact that the Petrenkos have abducted _one of our own_ is all the more reason to raid the place.” 

“I agree,” Raylan said. 

“But?” 

“But give me 24 hours to track down Petrovich. Besides, you’ve still got to put surveillance on the place, make sure that Petrenko is really there, file all the proper paperwork.” 

Raylan took it to be a good sign that Dan didn’t immediately refuse. It meant that his (former) boss was weighing the pros and cons of his request. The cons was obviously the longer list, but Dan had had his back before. 

“If it turns out that Petrenko is really at this location and if it looks like he’s going to bolt, then there’s no question that we’re gonna move in. If we have a legitimate chance to nab this guy and he slips through our fingers . . .” Dan trailed off but the meaning of his unfinished sentence was clear. 

If Petrenko managed to evade them because Raylan had asked Dan to wait, Raylan would lose his badge over this. 

“Understood,” Raylan said. 

Dan sighed, almost in resignation. “You at least got a good lead on Petrovich?” 

“Oleg was very helpful.” 

“I knew you were charming, Raylan, but Oleg Kossinki?” 

“Didn’t have to rely on my charm.” 

“Do I wanna know?” 

“No, you really don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering what Hitchcock film Tim and Raylan refer to in their conversation, it's one of my favorites: _Notorious_ (1946), starring Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Justified_ belongs to FX, Graham Yost and Elmore Leonard. No offense is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
